by Alana Ling
Gemima, the girl in the blue dress, shook her head a bit more frantically then necessary, while the other bridesmaid, Amanda, looked at Poppy in dismay.
‘Good. You need to get over it if you do. He’s your ex,’ Poppy told her without bothering to look at her friend. Her dossier had her full attention.
My head was buzzing on all three girls’ sour flavours, so I looked at Samantha. Her refreshing flavour soothed my overactive brain. I was going to enjoy having her around, especially when dealing with people like Poppy Guildford.
I approached the door to my house and Alfie’s bark erupted as he scratched on the door, waiting to throw himself at me upon my entry.
My phone went off in my coat pocket and, while I scavenged for my keys, a sneak peek at the screen showed it was Mum. The chaos of sounds was giving me a headache before I could even put my key in the hole, so I promptly pressed ignore on my phone and unlocked the door.
Alfie, my Jack Russell, jumped on me, as expected, and wagged his tail excitedly. His oatmeal cookie flavour was a welcome change on my palate. I picked him up, petted him and he relaxed in my arms. Then took him to the living room and plonked myself down on my leather sofa.
He sat on my lap and closed his eyes and I switched the telly on to help me unwind after a long day of work. There was no more than a week left to the wedding and even less so for the dress rehearsal and Poppy expected changes to be made on a whim, despite my having arranged everything to perfection for her weeks in advance.
I would finally be able to move on to bigger and better things. After the wedding all I had to do with Poppy was pay the damage to all the outstanding suppliers and send thank you cards to her guests. Piece of freaking cake.
The phone bleeped next to me and I panicked that bride-zilla had sent me yet another request. My heart pumped faster and my breathing hitched.
Even Alfie looked at me weird while I growled at my phone. It turned out it was only a social media notification.
Yes, it was time to relax.
I put Alfie to the side and went to the kitchen, where he followed me anyway thinking it was time for a treat. He sat patiently in front of me, staring me down until I succumbed and supplied him with a bacon rasher. He took it in his mouth and fled to another room to indulge in it.
Opening my cupboards, I took in the ingredients of great relaxation. While for others it was a spa day or pizza and Netflix, for me it was baking trays and flour. I usually liked to experiment with flavours, but all the sourness of today had me too mentally exhausted for any new challenges so I went for my comfort food. I melted the chocolate buttons over simmering water and mashed bananas in a bowl.
I opened another cabinet and browsed my selection of exotic and natural flavourings before getting my vanilla pods and scraping some on the mash. Its strong scent persisted on my palate despite me not having eaten any, but I was used to that by now. Baking was the only time where my tongue was allowed to go wild and it didn’t annoy me to the ends of my tether.
In a separate bowl I mixed the butter, sugar, flour, and baking powder, and added a pinch of salt. The salt only lightly touched my taste buds and balanced the sweetness. I cracked the eggs in a third bowl and beat them until they were smooth, then added half of it in my dry mix. Once everything was whisked smoothly, I added the other half and finally added my mashed bananas. I spooned the batter into the baking tray and popped it in the oven to bake for fifteen minutes.
While the cupcakes were baking, I worked on my icing. I beat a fresh batch of butter with some icing sugar and then folded my melted chocolate in the mix. I put it in the fridge as soon as it was done and took the cupcakes out of the oven after fifteen minutes. They were moist and smelled divine. I transferred them to the cooling rack. Alfie came back and sniffed the air.
Sometimes I felt like we were so much alike. He could smell everything and I could taste everything, and for both of us sometimes the world was overwhelming. I’d only had him for the past six months, a two-year-old dog that had been abused by his previous owner and was reluctant to trust another human. Now, you couldn’t keep him away from me.
He gave me his approval as he licked his snout and I petted his head. We made a good team. Even though he wasn’t allowed anywhere near sweets, except for the odd treat, his actions would tell me whether he liked my latest combo or not by smell alone.
Once everything was cool, I scooped the middle out of my cakes and filled them with crunchy peanut butter, then piped the chocolate on top and garnished them with a slice of dried banana and some salted peanuts.
I took one of them and my breath slowed, my eyes felt heavy and my stomach growled. I was officially relaxed. And that was before I even took a single bite.
My mouth was full when my phone rang again. I was distracted and picked up straight away, replying with a full mouth.
‘Oh my God, Joanna, no wonder you’ve put on an extra few pounds in the last month. You never stop eating.’
I wiped my mouth hastily and swallowed the remainder of the cake. ‘Hi, Poppy. What can I do you for?’
A sigh escaped me as I draped over my sofa. I had literally just managed to get rid of Poppy from my head, and mouth. What did she want from me?
I kept a growl in, but Alfie didn’t. He started barking at me and my phone. Sometimes he did that when I was talking to someone. I usually reprimanded him for it, but this time I petted him. Good dog! I thought.
‘I need you to call the registrar and sack them. I was going through the wedding pictures on their website and he’s so ghastly, I can’t have him ruining my special day.’
Now she remembers that he’s ugly?
‘I’ll try, but I can’t promise anyone else will be free. Especially not for both rehearsal day and the wedding,’ I said, not even sure why I was trying to rationalise with a whack of a woman.
‘If there isn’t, we’ll get someone to do the online thingy-ma-bob, where they are registered to officiate weddings, can we?’
‘I guess so; I don’t really know. But who would you want to officiate? A friend? A relative?’
Poppy hummed in my ear. ‘Yeah, a model for sure. Someone hot.’
‘Where are we going to find a hot model to marry you?’ I couldn’t even believe I was asking that question. It made no sense.
‘Get a modelling agency or something. I don’t know. That’s why I’m paying you, Joanna. To sort that stuff out. Get it sorted by the end of today,’ she said, and before I could protest she hung up on me.
I asked for divine help. One of the rare moments I ever did. I was going to kill that woman!
Three
I left my apartment at half-eight in the morning, box in hand and tapped on the window of the Oak Tavern. Jamie wasn’t there, but Kit, the new pub manager, walked up to the glazed panel door, holding a clipboard and a pen.
He unbolted it and opened it for me.
He was a six-foot man with short, dark curls and deep-blue eyes. He wore a blue shirt and black fitted jeans that made his legs a sight of their own.
‘Good morning,’ he sang cheerfully, although his good spirits didn’t translate in his face.
‘Morning, Kit,’ I replied and made to go inside. ‘I’m Joanna. Joanna Christie. The neighbour and Jamie’s friend? We met the other day?’
He put his hand on the door to stop my movement and took a step back. I cringed.
‘Everything okay?’ I asked him.
‘Of course, Joanna. But we’re not open yet,’ he said, the blue of his eyes turning darker.
I laughed. ‘I know. I was dropping off this fresh batch of cupcakes for the bar. Jamie sells them for me to your customers.’
He eyed the box I was holding and then returned his scowl to me.
‘Ah, yes. The cupcakes. Well, seeing as you went to the trouble of making those, I’ll take them in, but Miss Christie, I don’t know if we can keep selling your cupcakes, so please, do ask next time before you bring any in.’
My jaw dropped and I c
ould feel the sweat in my brows forming. ‘Is there something wrong with them, Kit?’ I asked, putting an emphasis on his name. The flavour of raspberry cheesecake felt off in my mouth. I wanted this conversation to end.
‘There’s nothing wrong with them in theory, but I can’t sell them on the bar like that. I’ve got chefs of my own that can make this stuff up. And will probably make me more profit than selling yours. I’m all for neighbourly communities and all, but I have a business to run. I know you had an agreement with Paul, but I’m not him.’
He hadn’t slapped me, but it sure felt like it. When Paul retired and put up his position for grabs, I thought Kit was the youngest, better, handsomer version of Paul, but now? I couldn’t see any of that. All I could see was blood red in front of me. So I turned around, with box still in hand, and walked up Oakhill Circus turned left on Elms Grove and into Bean Therapy for a much needed shot of caffeine.
Devika, the cafe owner, greeted me from behind the counter as she made coffees for the queue of customers that rushed in in the morning.
‘Help yourself, love,’ she told me and I didn’t need to be told twice. I walked behind the bar, grabbed the biggest cup in the universe and poured myself some freshly brewed Bali coffee, its intense aroma making me salivate and immediately wake up, while I got hints of Devi’s chai latte flavour in my palate. I let all the others wait for their skinny, non-foam, extra-hot lattes and took a seat at the nearest table where I could watch Devi and drink my coffee where I was welcome.
When the rush of people died down right after nine, Devi came up to me and took a seat, bringing me a fresh round of Bali coffee.
I wasn’t fancy, and neither was Devika. I was addicted to lattes and cappuccinos all my life until I visited Bali right after my divorce. It was my first holiday out on my own and the first time I’d ever felt free of Preston and our bad marriage. Other than the food, I discovered the magic of Bali coffee and upon my return to Haven-on-Sea I’d raved about it to Devi who’d then gone to the greatest lengths possible to find it, stock it and brew it for me day in day out. I’d even got her hooked on it.
‘How are you doing, love?’ she asked me as I took my laptop out of my purse and turned it on.
I shook my head. ‘Don’t even. That Kit guy, you know, the new manager of the Oak, just gave me the coldest shoulder I could ever have asked for—but let’s not go there. I brought you these,’ I said and slid the box of cupcakes towards her.
She undid the bow holding it together and opened the box. Her hazel eyes widened and her tongue licked her upper lip.
‘My favourite,’ she said and, before I could say anything further, she grabbed for a cake and dug in.
Devi moaned loudly, and wiped the icing off her lip with a swipe of her finger, which she then licked in a promiscuous way.
‘You have no idea how many customers keep asking for your cupcakes. They all think they are manufactured and can’t understand why there isn’t an unlimited supply in the back of my house.’ She picked up the box and walked to the counter. A little stand with a glass dome was empty, but not for long. She filled it up with my baked goods and put the lid back on.
She then walked to the till and took two twenties out of the register. She handed them to me.
‘Oh no,’ I shook my head, ‘I can’t take this. This is too much,’ I told her.
She proceeded to tuck the two notes under my bra strap and sat down next to me.
‘You’re worth it, love. Besides, I sell them a fiver apiece. If I can make a profit, so can you.’
I smiled and took the notes and stuffed them in my purse. Samantha walked in as I was untwisting my strap and she stopped short of the table to take a good look at Devi.
‘Can I—?’ Samantha asked.
I looked from her to Devi and back to Samantha and realised why she was asking for permission.
‘Of course, Samantha. Devika is the cafe owner. She’s not a client.’ Devi tilted her head and grinned. ‘Well, not an events client anyway.’
Samantha extended her arm and introduced herself. Then plonked down opposite me and took her notebook out. ‘So, what are we doing today, Joanna?’
‘Today, we run through the wedding day, second by second, and make sure we’ve got everything down to a tee, otherwise Poppy will be the death of me.’
Devi set another pot of coffee down between Sam and I. Sam eyed it suspiciously and sniffed it before pouring some in a cup and taking a sip.
Her eyes opened in surprise.
‘Can I have some sugar? What is this?’
Devi stood up and got back to work. ‘That is Joanna’s favourite coffee. Coffee from Bali.’
‘It’s delish! I’m normally a tea kind of girl, but this is so good.’
I smiled. ‘Perfect. Drink up. We’ve got places to be and a meticulous woman to please.’
We walked west, towards the suburbs where the bakery Poppy had hired was located.
‘How are you finding Haven-on-Sea, Samantha? Have you settled in yet?’ I asked as we crossed nook after nook in the quaint little streets of my hometown on the south coast of England.
‘Uhm, yeah, almost. Still trying to get all my furniture in, but I love the town already. I mean, I’ve only been here a week and I know most of my neighbours, and people know me by name.’
‘Sounds about right.’
‘It’s so strange though, ’cause everyone in London thinks Haven is a posh, uptight little town where outsiders are not welcome and you have to come from money to be someone, but that is not the impression I’ve got so far.’
I laughed. ‘That also sounds right. Look, Haven started in the sixties as an exclusive little coastal resort for the rich and famous of the Western world. The guy who built the town was American, which is why the town’s plan is so straightforward. No roundabouts and no magic alleys that lead you to the other side of the town because the architecture has been inherited from the Victorian times. I mean, the guy gave all the suburban streets film names to please his diva wife for crying out loud.’
‘I was wondering about that, actually. It’s the strangest thing. But, yeah, everyone so far has been nice. I haven’t witnessed any hostility.’
‘Well, the town has undergone quite a change in the past two decades. Artists from all walks of life found solace and recognition in this town and everything has changed since. Don’t get me wrong, there are still people like Poppy all over town, who think they own Haven because they’ve been the bread and butter of this place since it was built, but that’s only half the population. You’ll feel at home here in no time.’
Sam nodded with a smile and I reciprocated. We turned at the end of the street and as we did I caught a glimpse of a woman on the other side, accompanied by a tall, fit man. I winced and looked closer. It was Poppy, with a man I’d never seen before. Her hands were all over his chest, even though he didn’t touch her or looked half interested in what she was saying to him. He was actually trying to ward off her advances.
I pulled Samantha under a store entrance and hid before she spotted us.
‘Is that our bride being touchy-feely with another man?’ Sam asked.
I bit my lips and we both giggled.
‘Figures, bitch in style, bitch in kind,’ Sam said.
I looked across the street and saw the man disappear into Hotel Margot, a fancy vintage bed and breakfast on Bell, Book and Candle Street, and Poppy followed behind him.
‘Well, well, well, Miss Guildford. You naughty, little thing,’ I mumbled. ‘Let’s go, Sam. We need to plan this woman’s wedding.’
We continued our upward stroll and turned left at the end of the road with Samantha running through our list of things to do. I saw Preston coming up to me in a storm. He must have spotted me before I had him and was standing in front of me, blocking my way, before I could do anything about it.
‘Preston. What are you doing here?’
He kissed my cheek, lingered on a few moments too long, his flavours coming back to m
e as if from muscle memory, and I wanted to kiss him back. It only lasted for a moment before everything I’d gone through with this guy came tumbling back and left a bad taste in my mouth. He whispered in my ear, ‘I’ve missed you.’
The man that used to be, quite literally, the fine red wine to my life was now vinegar and tannins.
‘Well, I haven’t,’ I snapped.
‘Oh, Jo, you like to tease,’ he said.
I looked to Sam for palate cleansing and the cucumbers of her refreshing youth did the job.
‘I’m Samantha,’ she introduced herself, weary of my staring at her.
‘Preston. Preston Anderson. Jo’s husband,’ he said.
‘Ex!’ I said with a bit too much rigour that it came out as a shout.
‘We’re working on that.’
I balled my fists and bit my lip. Breathe in, breathe out. And repeat. ‘We’re not. The divorce is final. I’ve got the paper to prove it and you’re an obnoxious little man to think we still stand a chance.’ I walked away from him, Samantha following suit.
‘I still love you, Jo,’ I heard him shout behind me.
‘Get the message, mate. She ain’t interested anymore,’ Samantha responded while she followed me.
He laughed loud and clear, echoing all over the street. ‘Alright, you go play party planning and I’ll be here, waiting for you to crawl back when it all goes under.’
I flipped him the bird and threw in a few cuss words for good measure before resuming my trip to the bakery.
Dashing through the streets, I pulled my phone out and dialled the number I’d been avoiding all week. She answered on the first click.
‘Jo, my sweetheart, you finally decided to call Mummy back? I’ve been worried sick about you, baby,’ she said.
I looked to the heavens for support, but I knew none would come. ‘Why didn’t you tell me he’s back?’
My mum laughed. ‘I tried, sweetheart, but you wouldn’t answer the bloody phone.’
It was time to curse myself for not picking up. Why was I avoiding her anyway? Because Poppy was overbearing enough and I couldn’t handle my Greek mum on the other end?