by Sophie Hart
‘You were a dickhead,’ Julia told him fiercely, her voice muffled from being pressed into his chest.
In spite of her words, Nick smiled, recognising that they were turning a corner. ‘Yeah,’ he agreed, kissing her on top of her head. ‘I was a dickhead.’
Julia lay quietly, wrapped up in Nick’s arms, their bodies intertwined. In spite of all that had happened, it still felt safe and secure. Everything about the situation was reassuringly familiar: the cosy softness of the duvet, the feel of Nick’s body against hers, the smell of his skin.
Julia exhaled slowly, suddenly realising that she was tired of everything – all the arguments and recriminations, the holding of petty grudges, the silent treatment and the ever-present tension between them. She wanted their relationship to be back to how it used to be, but Julia knew it could never be the same again. One of the many things she’d learnt from Annie was that you always had to keep moving forward – you could never go back – and trying to recapture a particular moment in time was impossible.
If Julia wanted her and Nick to move forward, she needed to let go of her anger and resentment, and forgive her husband for the mistake he’d made.
‘Make love to me,’ Julia murmured softly. ‘No agenda, no trying to get pregnant. Just you and me, slow and gentle and loving.’
Nick propped himself up on one elbow, scrutinising Julia’s face. ‘Are you sure?’ he asked, his tone serious.
Julia lay back and smiled at him, reaching out a hand to gently caress his cheek. ‘I’ve never been more sure of anything.’
* * *
More than a dozen cakes were laid out on the table, and they all looked incredible. There was red velvet smothered in cream cheese; lemon drizzle coated in sweet, white icing; traditional vanilla sponge with a strawberry jam centre; dark chocolate ganache shot through with cherry liqueur.
Zoe stared at them longingly, embarrassed to hear her stomach give off an almighty rumble.
‘They smell delicious,’ she sighed, inhaling the sweet scent of icing sugar and cocoa that permeated the air of the cake shop.
‘What time is Julia supposed to be arriving?’ Simon asked, for the third time in as many minutes. His mouth was hanging open, and he fully expected to look down and see a little pile of drool on the table in front of him.
‘She said one o’clock,’ Zoe replied worriedly, checking her phone again and noting that it was now almost quarter past.
‘Well, I don’t think it’s very professional,’ Simon harrumphed. ‘It’s the first meeting she’s arranged for us, and she can’t even be bothered to turn up on time.’
‘Don’t say that,’ Zoe shushed him. ‘She’s organising this whole wedding for next to nothing, and she can get us a really good discount on whichever cake we choose. We wouldn’t even have known about this place if it wasn’t for her, let alone got them to open on a Sunday.’
The two of them were in ‘Truly Scrumptious’, a traditional bakery in the pretty little market town of Fotheringham, just outside Norwich. The elderly owner, Molly Macdonald, was one of Julia’s contacts, and she’d arranged for Zoe and Simon to have a private tasting when the shop was closed, so that they could decide on the filling for their wedding cake. Julia had offered to accompany them, but so far she was nowhere in sight.
‘I’m sure there’s a perfectly good explanation as to why she’s running a bit late,’ Zoe insisted.
Molly, who’d been standing at the window watching for Julia, turned and smiled at them. ‘There’s still no sign of her, I’m afraid,’ she said, in her gentle Scottish accent. ‘Would you like to get started anyway? I can always cut you a couple of samples to be going on with.’
Zoe and Simon looked at one another.
‘Maybe we should just hang on another few minutes…’ Zoe suggested, biting her lip longingly.
‘No,’ Simon burst out, overcome by the sight of the moist, juicy carrot cake topped with creamy mascarpone. ‘I’m not waiting any longer. Do you mind if we try that one?’ he asked, pointing to a white chocolate and raspberry gateau.
‘Of course not,’ Molly smiled. Simon almost whimpered as she slid the knife into the cake, the chocolate cracking and splintering as the raspberry filling oozed out. Molly had just plated up two small portions when Julia came dashing through the door.
‘I’m so sorry,’ she apologised breathlessly. It looked as though she’d got ready in a hurry: her hair was a mess, her blouse was buttoned up wrongly, and the label was sticking out of the back of her skirt. On the other hand, her skin was positively glowing and her eyes were shining. ‘I was just… that is… Nick and I, um, overslept and then… I can’t apologise enough. I’m never normally like this, I promise.’
‘Don’t worry about it,’ Zoe smiled easily. ‘We’d just given in and decided to try the cakes, but you’re here now.’
‘Yes.’ Julia sat down, smoothing back her hair then pulling a notebook and pen out of her bag. ‘What do you think? Initial impressions?’
‘It looks amazing,’ Zoe gushed. ‘Thanks so much for bringing us here. I’d never heard of this place before.’
Julia looked pleased. ‘Good. Molly’s the best kept secret in Norfolk,’ she grinned, smiling at Molly who was cutting a third slice of cake which she handed to Julia.
‘Mmm, that’s divine.’
‘Incredible!’
Simon said nothing, letting out a long, slow moan of pleasure instead. ‘We’ll have that one,’ he managed finally.
‘We haven’t tried the others yet,’ Zoe giggled.
‘I don’t care. Nothing can taste as good as that.’
‘Well, my red velvet’s pretty tasty too,’ Molly smiled, as she cut three generous slices and handed them round.
Julia poured them each a glass of water from the jug on the table, and they all took a sip to cleanse their palates, before taking a forkful of the red velvet.
‘I think this is even better,’ Simon wailed. ‘How are we supposed to choose?’
‘We could have a tier of each?’ Zoe suggested. ‘If we keep them small, we might be able to afford three.’
‘Then bring on the next,’ Simon beamed, as he scraped his plate.
‘You’re not supposed to eat the whole portion, you’ll be sick,’ Zoe told him, laughing.‘I can handle it,’ Simon shrugged. ‘I’m a big guy.’
‘Vanilla sponge next?’ suggested Molly. The knife sliced deftly through the cake which was light as air, jam and cream sandwiched in the middle.
‘I think we’ve found our third tier,’ Simon grinned.
‘Your wedding cake’s going to be twenty tiers high at this rate,’ Julia chuckled.
‘You do know the cake’s for our guests as well,’ Zoe told Simon. ‘We don’t get to eat it all ourselves.’
‘Really? Oh.’ Simon looked crestfallen.
‘Although maybe there’ll be other things to look forward to on our wedding day.’ Zoe leant in close as she whispered, ‘Like our wedding night.’
‘Oh, yeah…’ A wide grin spread across Simon’s face as he savoured the prospect. ‘Maybe we could combine the two? My new bride, covered in chocolate ganache,’ he suggested, as Zoe giggled naughtily.
It was another hour before they’d worked their way through all of the samples, and by then they all felt thoroughly sick and full to bursting.
‘I don’t ever want to see another cake again,’ Simon groaned, as he reached for the water jug.
‘I warned you,’ Zoe admonished him, although she was feeling pretty nauseous herself. It turned out that it was possible to have too much of a good thing.
‘So have you made your final selections?’ Molly asked pleasantly, looking at them from behind her wire-rimmed glasses.
‘I think so,’ Zoe replied, looking across to Simon for confirmation. ‘We’re going to go for a layer of red velvet, coated in cream cheese, on the bottom.’
‘That’s the biggest one right?’ Simon asked, as Zoe nodded. ‘Just checking.’
‘Then a layer of vanilla sponge with buttercream, and just a small traditional fruit cake layer on the top, covered in white icing – our parents will like that.’
‘And you’d like pink rose petals decorating all three tiers?’ asked Molly, as she wrote everything down carefully.
‘Yes, please.’
Zoe, Simon and Julia all stood up, scraping back their chairs as they surveyed the messy remains of the cakes on the table.
‘I’ll give you a call later in the week to confirm everything,’ Julia said to Molly, as she hugged her goodbye.
‘Thank you so much,’ Zoe added. ‘Your cakes are amazing!’
‘You’re very welcome,’ Molly told her, pressing a small white box into her hands. ‘And here’re a few extra samples, just to take home.’
‘Are you trying to kill me?’ Simon joked.
‘What about me?’ Zoe said, as they made their way out of the door. ‘I’m supposed to be fitting into a teeny tiny wedding dress in less than three months.’
‘Ooh, that reminds me,’ Julia said. ‘Are you still okay to do a trying-on session next week?’
‘Absolutely. I can’t wait!’
‘Me neither. And I promise I won’t be late for that one,’ Julia assured her, her cheeks turning pink as she remembered the exact reason why she’d been late today.
‘Oh, don’t worry about it,’ Zoe insisted. ‘I hope you were doing something fun.’
Julia’s turned even redder. ‘You could say that,’ she managed, as they reached her car. ‘Anyway, I’ll see you both soon, and I’ll give you a call about next week,’ she promised, as she hugged them both goodbye.
‘Well, we’ve got the whole afternoon ahead of us,’ Zoe mused, waving as Julia drove off. ‘What shall we do?’
‘Hmm, I’m thinking you, me, that chocolate ganache…’
‘I thought you couldn’t eat any more?’
Simon leant across, pulling Zoe to him and pretending to bite her on the neck, which made her squeal with delight. ‘Looking at you, I’m feeling hungry all over again!’
23
Chapter Twenty-three
‘A liberated woman is one who has sex before marriage and a job after’ – Gloria Steinem
Annie was in her kitchen – a room in her house where, ordinarily, she didn’t spend a huge amount of time. Right now, she was feeling extremely stressed, nervous adrenaline racing round her body, her face red and blotchy from the heat. Steam was blasting from pots simmering on the hob, the oven was pumping out hot air, and the work surfaces were littered with sticky mixing bowls and the remnants of chopped vegetables.
Annie opened the window to try to cool the room down, staring round in bewilderment at the mess she’d created. The kitchen was not her natural territory; being so busy with her job, Annie often picked up a takeaway on her way home from work or popped a ready meal in the microwave, and her culinary skills didn’t really extend much beyond that. When she’d invited Jamie over for a film night, she’d casually offered to cook something simple, but now she felt as pressured as though she were competing on Masterchef and doing her utmost to impress a harsh panel of critics.
As she and Jamie had planned to chill on her sofa and watch a film, Annie hadn’t wanted to cook a formal, sit-down meal. In a moment of optimism, she’d opted to make American diner-style cuisine: hotdogs with mustard and fried onions; homemade sweet potato fries; mac ‘n’ cheese in little ramekins; barbecue chicken wings; with chocolate brownies and vanilla ice cream for dessert. Now Annie was starting to think that she might have been a little overconfident in her choices. She was essentially trying to cook five different things at once, and it was all starting to fall apart.
‘Shit,’ Annie swore under her breath, as she noticed the time on the oven clock. Jamie would be here any minute. She dashed upstairs and into her bedroom, catching sight of her reflection in the wardrobe mirror. Urgh. Her face was flushed, her neatly blow-dried hair had gone frizzy, and her white T-shirt sported a remarkable variety of cooking stains.
Quickly, Annie pulled on her blue skinny jeans and a Breton striped top, which she hoped might lend her an air of French sophistication. As she hastily applied a touch of make-up, Annie found herself thinking about Jamie’s words after their last cinema outing, as he’d walked her to her car and she’d stupidly asked whether or not this was a date. He’d simply shrugged and replied, ‘Sure’, those blue eyes dancing in the way that made her stomach flip. Was he merely humouring her? Or was tonight really a proper grown-up, I-like-you-you-like-me, potential-for-romance date?
Annie wasn’t even sure what she wanted the answer to be. She definitely liked Jamie. More than liked, in fact. If the truth be told, she was starting to develop real feelings for him. But the fact remained that she was terrified; she was scared of getting hurt again, and making another colossal life-changing mistake. How did you know when your feelings for someone were genuine, she wondered. How could you be sure that all the lust and excitement wouldn’t fade and disappear over time? Maybe the difference was that when you had a good relationship, you didn’t just walk away, like she had with Mark. You knew that you had something worth fighting for, and you did everything in your power to keep it.
The doorbell rang and Annie’s heart lurched. She counted to three and exhaled slowly, before jogging down the stairs and opening the door.
‘Hi Jamie,’ she smiled, trying her best to sound cool and composed.
‘Hi Annie,’ he grinned, leaning over to kiss her on the cheek, a gesture that made her body fizz at the skin-on-skin contact. Jamie looked gorgeous in his usual jeans and a casual shirt, and he was holding a bunch of flowers, a beautiful arrangement of roses and freesias. ‘These are for you.’
‘Thank you!’ Annie exclaimed. ‘You really didn’t have to.’
‘I know, but I wanted to,’ he replied, which made Annie’s smile grow even wider. She didn’t think a man had ever bought her flowers before – certainly not Mark, who’d viewed them as a waste of money. But Annie thought they were a wonderful, romantic gesture, and she delightedly inhaled their sweet scent.
‘And I brought this too,’ Jamie continued, holding up a bottle of Malbec. ‘You prefer red, right?’
‘Well remembered!’
They stood there for a moment, simply smiling at one another, luxuriating in the moment and the anticipation of what tonight might bring.
‘Come through,’ Annie told him, guiding him swiftly past the kitchen and into the living room.
‘You’ve got a beautiful house, Annie,’ Jamie said admiringly, as he stared round at the well-kept room. It was decorated in relaxing, neutral shades, with her goldfish bowl set on a chest of drawers beside a framed photograph of her parents. There was an overflowing bookcase in one corner, and shelves containing all her DVDs on the opposite wall. Jamie strolled over, reading the titles with a grin.
‘Shakespeare in Love… Moulin Rouge… The English Patient. You really have got them all.’
‘Naturally! And tonight I get to experience some sci-fi.’
‘I’m planning to convert you,’ Jamie teased.
‘Well, I’ll let you get everything set up. It’s pretty straightforward,’ Annie said, gesturing towards her DVD player. ‘I’ll just go and check on the food. Can I get you a drink? Wine? Beer?’
‘I’ll start with a beer, thanks.’
Moments later, Annie brought it through, Jamie chinking his bottle against her glass of Malbec. ‘Here’s to tonight,’ he toasted.
‘And to losing my sci-fi virginity,’ Annie joined in, then immediately blushed scarlet. She took a sip of her drink to cover her embarrassment, pretending not to notice the way Jamie was laughing.
‘The food smells delicious,’ he commented, taking another slug of his beer. ‘What are we having?’
‘American-style finger food. I thought it would be easy to eat whilst watching TV.’
‘Great plan,’ Jamie grinned, and Annie felt her stomach do a long, slow flip. He looked eve
n more handsome when he smiled, his eyes crinkling at the corners, his whole face lighting up. There was a quiet confidence about him, Annie reflected, sneaking a sideways glance at him as she took in his handsome profile. Jamie never seemed to feel the need to show off in front of her, or try to impress her; he was just very comfortable in his own skin, and it was very attractive. It was sexy, Annie realised, feeling tingles where she hadn’t felt tingles for a very long time.
‘Can you hear something?’ Jamie asked with a frown.
The sound of a pan boiling over startled Annie out of her reverie, and she dashed back through to the kitchen to discover it had turned into a disaster zone in her absence. Smoke was billowing from the oven, and when she pulled open the door she discovered that her sweet potato fries were now nothing more than charred black lumps. The chicken, in contrast, still looked worryingly pink, whilst her mac ‘n’ cheese appeared to be little more than gloopy lumps of pasta swimming in milk. Annie felt like crying.
‘Is everything okay in there?’ Jamie called.
‘Fine,’ Annie lied, alarmed to hear her voice come out strangely high-pitched and strangled. ‘Just a couple more minutes.’
She was desperately trying to rescue the hotdog sausages from their watery grave, when she heard a noise in the doorway, and turned to see Jamie standing there, shock written across his face.
‘Maybe another few minutes?’ Annie suggested, knowing that she’d been rumbled.
She watched as Jamie looked around at the carnage of the kitchen, taking in the smudge of cheese sauce on Annie’s cheek and the barbecue marinade splattered all over the worktop. Then suddenly, he began to laugh, a small snigger that gradually turned into a deep, rumbling belly laugh.
Annie stared at him in disbelief, but the more she thought about it, the funnier it seemed, and soon she was laughing too, the two of them in hysterics at the state of their meal.