“And what?” Chloe said.
“Wow, conversation with you is riveting,” Amber muttered just as Sky appeared at the table.
She looked from Chloe to Amber and raised her eyebrows. “Everything OK?”
“Yes, everything’s great. They were just going.” Amber looked pointedly at Chloe.
A scowl flickered on to Chloe’s face and she leaned down to speak in Amber’s ear. “You think you’re so great, don’t you, now you’ve actually got a friend. But I know what you’re really like – and I bet the readers of your stupid blog would love to know too.” Chloe turned back to the other OMGs. “Come on, let’s get out of here.”
Amber stared after Chloe, her heart pounding.
“What the hell was that about?” Sky said.
Amber shrugged. “She’s just being her usual charming self.” But inside she didn’t feel so self-assured. She knew that Chloe had read her interview with Rose and therefore knew about her blog, but she’d assumed she hadn’t looked at it since.
“Do you want to get out of here for a bit?” Sky asked.
Amber nodded.
Outside was cold and grey and the air was filled with a fine drizzle.
“How’s your day been so far?” Amber asked.
Sky sighed. “Not great. Why do teachers get so uptight about homework? Seriously, it’s bad enough having to be here for seven hours a day. I can’t believe they expect us to work most of the weekend, too.”
“Oh dear,” Amber said. But she was only half concentrating. Her mind was too full of thoughts of Chloe and the OMGs killing themselves laughing over her blog. And just when she’d started posting again. Why did this have to happen now?
“And if they’re not going on about homework, they’re obsessing over revision. It’s not as if our mock exams count for anything.” Sky looked at Amber. “They don’t count towards our final grades, do they?”
“No. They’re more of a trial run.”
“So they’re pointless.” Sky sighed and looked back at the grey brick building. “Just like school.”
Rose added another pinch of cayenne pepper to the frosting and gave it a stir. Ever since her blow-up with Savannah at the weekend, the atmosphere at home had been thick with tension. Savannah was acting as if nothing had happened, being falsely bright and cheery but with just enough iciness to let Rose know that she was still pissed off at her. Rose’s coping strategy had been to throw herself into devising a signature cupcake for the stall and daydreaming about Francesca. She tasted the frosting. Now it was perfect. She filled up an icing bag and started piping swirls on top of the batch of chocolate and chilli cupcakes she’d made earlier. The first time she’d ever piped icing it had come out uneven but now she knew exactly how much pressure to exert on the bag and exactly how to move her wrist. Once she’d iced the cakes, she stepped back to admire them and all of her tension disappeared. They looked great. Now for the finishing touches. She’d found some mini chilli peppers at Camden Market and figured they’d make the perfect decoration. She gently placed one in the centre of each cake. Perfect. Now she needed to show them to Francesca. If she liked them, Rose could make a fresh batch for Saturday. As she thought of seeing Francesca again, and watching that beautiful mouth biting into one of her cakes, her skin tingled with excitement.
Sky trudged through the crowded concourse at Camden Tube station, her heart as heavy as her backpack of school books. She’d gone up to Covent Garden after school. She couldn’t face going home, because going home would mean there’d be no excuse not to make a start on her homework. The problem was, she now had so much homework she didn’t know where to start. Sky had refused on principle to do any over the weekend but today she’d had three more assignments heaped on top of the two essays that were due. She tapped her Oyster card on the reader and slipped through the barrier. The air outside was crisp and fresh – a welcome change to the muggy air of the Underground. She quickly checked her phone – still no call or message from Leon. She’d hoped she might find him in the Poetry Café but there’d been no sign of him. And why should there have been? As she started to make her way up the High Road she felt sad and desperate and consumed with disappointment. He’d said he’d call her on Sunday and now it was Monday night. What if he didn’t call at all? What if the dream was over? And it was a dream. The longer that went by without her hearing from Leon, the less real the whole thing seemed. The less real he seemed. Like some fantasy guy she’d conjured up in her imagination to distract her from the harsh realities of school. This was no good. She hated feeling this way. There was only one person who could snap her out of this mood. She stopped by a lamppost and typed a text to Rose.
Hey! How are you? Where are you? Don’t suppose you want to meet? Don’t worry if it’s too late but I could really do with your advice. S xx
All through dinner, Maali could tell something was wrong. It wasn’t anything that Auntie Sita or Uncle Dev had said, it was more what they hadn’t said. When Maali had asked if there’d been any news on the scan results, they’d said they “weren’t sure”. How could they not be sure? Either they knew or they didn’t. Her mum hadn’t been any clearer either, sending her a text in the afternoon saying that she’d tell her what had happened when she got home. Surely if it was good news she’d have told her by text? Surely only bad news needed to be told face to face? Maali stirred her curry listlessly with her fork. She wasn’t able to eat even a mouthful. Fear gripped her throat like a vice. Downstairs the front door slammed shut and all of them apart from Namir jumped. Uncle Dev and Auntie Sita were clearly as nervous as she was. They all watched silently as Maali’s mum walked into the room. She took one look at them and burst into tears.
Uncle Dev leapt to his feet. “Sis! Come here.” He wrapped his arms around her.
Maali sat still as stone. What had happened? Why was she crying?
“What’s wrong, Mum?” Namir asked in a little voice.
“Oh, nothing, pet, Mummy’s just tired.” Their mum broke away from Uncle Dev’s embrace and wiped her eyes.
“Why don’t you and I go and watch your dinosaur movie?” Auntie Sita said to Namir. “Let Mum have some dinner.”
“OK,” Namir said, but he was still looking at his mum anxiously.
Once Sita and Namir had left, Maali’s mum came over and took hold of Maali’s hands. “We got the results of the scan,” she said, her eyes glassy with tears. “Dad – he … he has a brain tumour.”
Maali sat motionless at the table while beneath her it felt as if the entire world had fallen away.
ROSE’S RECIPE FOR SPITALFIELDS SURPRISE CUPCAKES
Cake Ingredients
200g butter (room temperature – or your blender won’t be happy!)
200g light brown sugar
3 eggs
200g self-raising flour
100g unsweetened cocoa
½ teaspoon ground cinnamon
1 teaspoon mild chilli powder
¼ teaspoon cayenne pepper
A few drops of milk if needed
• Beat the butter and sugar.
• Stir in the eggs, one at a time. (Don’t be put off by the gross appearance.)
• Combine all the dry ingredients in another bowl.
• Slowly (and I mean SLOWLY!) sift the dry mix into the butter, sugar and eggs mix, then fold in.
• Stir in a few drops of milk if needed.
• Spoon the mixture into cupcake cases (you’ll need about 12) and place on a baking tray.
• Bake in a pre-heated oven at 160ºC / gas mark 2 for 20–25 minutes.
• Test them with a skewer to make sure they’re cooked. (The skewer needs to come out clean – if it’s covered in weird gloopy stuff, it’s not ready.)
• Leave to cool on a wire rack before icing.
Frosting Ingredients
450g icing sugar, sieved
85g unsalted butter
40ml milk
25g unsweetened cocoa
1 teaspoon vani
lla extract
¼ teaspoon cayenne pepper
• Cream the butter, cocoa and cayenne pepper.
• Slowly add half the icing sugar.
• Add the milk and vanilla.
• Slowly stir in the remaining sugar.
• Pipe the frosting onto the cakes.
• Decorate with mini chillis – or, if you’re really brave, chilli flakes.
Chapter Twenty-five
Rose let herself into the patisserie and looked around. One of Francesca’s assistants, a red-haired Scottish woman named Claire, was behind the counter and there were a couple of customers sitting at the tables.
“Hey,” Rose said, coming up to the counter.
Claire smiled. “Hello, Rose. You’re a bit late for work experience. We’ll be closing soon.”
“I know. I just came by to see Francesca. I have something to show her.”
“Ah, OK. She just popped out.” Claire gestured to an empty table nearby. “Why don’t you take a seat? Would you like a drink?”
Rose shook her head. She was too nervous. She’d decided that tonight was the night she was going to tell Francesca she was gay. She wasn’t exactly sure how she was going to do this. On the way over on the train she’d dreamed up a scenario in which she’d stayed behind after the shop had shut and Francesca had conveniently said to her in passing that she was gay. “So am I!” Rose had exclaimed in response. At which point Francesca had turned to her and smiled. “You and I are so alike, my darling Rose.” And then, finally, they’d kissed. The kiss had tasted of lipstick and chocolate and chilli and it had gone on for ever.
Rose sat down at the table and took a deep breath. She had to get a grip. She didn’t have to tell Francesca tonight, she reminded herself. She could always tell her another time. But at least if she told her now, she’d get it out there. Then, if Francesca was gay, she’d probably tell Rose and at least that would leave the way clear for something to happen.
But would something happen? Rose thought back to when Francesca had given her the necklace. There had definitely been a spark between them then, especially when Francesca put the necklace on her. Rose hadn’t imagined it. She was certain. And again on Saturday, when Francesca had told her how “incredeeeble” she was. The way she’d looked at her, the way her huge dark eyes had widened and sparkled…
The door burst open and Francesca stepped in. She was wearing tightly fitting black trousers, with sky-high red stilettos and a matching halter-neck top. Her hair was piled up on top of her head, with a few loose tendrils spilling down around her face. She looked stunning. Rose could hardly move, let alone speak.
“Rose!” Francesca exclaimed. “What are you doing here?”
“I – uh – I made some cakes for the stall. A new recipe. If you – if you like them, I thought it might be good to…”
Rose fell silent as a dark-haired, heavy-set man walked into the shop behind Francesca and placed his hand on her shoulder.
Francesca spun round and smiled at him. “Rose, Claire, this is Pierre. Pierre, these are my wonderful staff.”
Rose tried with every muscle in her face not to frown. Who the hell was Pierre?
“Bon soir,” Pierre called over to her.
He was French. Rose relaxed a little. Maybe he was her brother.
Pierre put one of his hairy, chunky hands on Francesca’s waist and pulled her to him. OK, so maybe French siblings liked being super-affectionate. He planted a kiss slap-bang on her beautiful lips. The lips Rose had dreamed of kissing for months. Francesca giggled.
“Excuse us,” she said, grinning at Claire and Rose. “We haven’t seen each other since Christmas.”
Pierre said something in French and started nuzzling her neck. Rose felt like she was going to puke. Every kiss he planted on Francesca, every giggle and coy look she gave him in return, felt like pins bursting Rose’s heart-shaped balloon. How could she have been so wrong? How could she have been so stupid? Rose hated feeling like this. She needed to get out of there. She took her phone from her bag, ready to fake an excuse. But there was a text from Sky. It sounded urgent too. Perfect.
“Oh, I’m so sorry. I’ve got to go.”
“But I only just got here!” Francesca cried. “What are these cakes you were talking about? Stay for a drink.”
“I can’t. I’m sorry. My friend’s having an emergency.” Rose waved her phone as if producing evidence. “I only popped in because I was passing. Lovely to meet you,” she said through gritted teeth to Pierre. “I’ll see you at the stall on Saturday,” she said to Francesca as she walked past her to the door.
“Of course. See you then. I hope your friend she is OK.”
“Me too.” Rose practically ran from the shop. Shit. Shit. Shit. She felt as if her heart were being crushed by one of those machines you get at salvage yards. The kind that can squash an entire car into the size of a shoe box. The worst thing was, she couldn’t be angry with Francesca. It wasn’t as if she’d cheated on her, or even told her that she was gay. This disappointment Rose was feeling, that was eating her up from the inside, was all her own doing. She needed a drink. She saw an off-licence up ahead and stormed inside. She grabbed a bottle of wine from the shelf.
“Are you over eighteen?” the Asian guy behind the counter asked.
“Are you kidding me?” This was all she needed. She hardly ever got ID-ed. “I’m twenty-three and I’ve got three kids,” she snapped at him. “Why do you think I need the wine?”
“OK. OK. Just checking,” the guy said, scanning the wine and putting it in a bag.
Rose pulled a ten-pound note from her jacket pocket. It was from her wages from Saturday. The money she was supposed to be putting into a savings account for her business. She was too angry and upset to care. She came out of the shop and called Sky. Sky answered on the first ring.
“Rose! Where are you?”
“Camden. How about you?”
“Same. Just came out of the Tube.”
Rose looked down the High Road and in the distance she could just make out Sky’s fluffy blonde hair.
“I’m up ahead of you. Outside the off-licence. I’m the one waving the wine bottle, which kind of sums up my night.”
“Oh dear.”
“Yeah.” Rose watched as Sky started running towards her.
“Have you got enough for two?” she said breathlessly.
Rose saw a flicker of light in the dark tunnel of her disappointment. “Sure have.”
Amber logged into her email account. She had twenty-seven new messages. Normally, this sight would make her happy but, following her earlier altercation with Chloe, she felt a twinge of unease. She quickly scanned her inbox. One was her word of the day from Dictionary.com but the rest were all comment notifications from her blog. Amber’s heart sank as she saw that most of them came from a new poster: someone called @ChloGlo. She clicked the first one open. It had been posted on her latest blog.
Well, you defiantly don’t fit in!!! What a freak!
Chloe – it had to be. And how typical that she should make Amber’s most irritating predictive text error of all time. She hated it when people put defiantly instead of definitely. Amber opened the next notification.
Why don’t you tell ur readers why ur not interested in boys and sex. Cos ur a lesbian!
Amber’s face flushed. But, despite knowing that what she’d see was bound to hurt her, she clicked open another.
Why don’t you do a blog about what happened to you in PE last year?
Right – that was enough! Amber walked over to her bedroom window and opened it wide. Outside, a crowd of people on a Jack the Ripper tour followed their guide down the cobbled street. Over to the right she could hear the gentle thud of a bassline coming from one of the bars in the Truman Brewery. She breathed in deep lungfuls of cold night air, trying to get rid of the nausea building inside her. Her blog had been her sanctuary. The one place she felt free to be herself – or at least write about herself – in an honest an
d open way. And even though she’d been blocked recently, she’d hoped that once she got over her current identity crisis she’d be able to start writing freely again. Now Chloe had ruined it. With her snooping around and commenting, Wilde at Heart would be just as bad as school.
Amber felt tears burning her eyes as she deleted the comments one by one and changed the blog setting to offline. It was so unfair. Why did the bullies always win? There was a knock on her door.
“Amber, darling!” Gerald called. “Daniel’s popping to Rosa’s for some Thai food. What would you like?”
“Nothing,” Amber replied, choking back her tears.
Gerald poked his head round the door. “What’s wrong?”
Amber frowned. Since when did Gerald become observant? “Nothing’s wrong.” She turned back to look out of the window so he wouldn’t see her face.
“Is it – is it about your mother?”
“No. I’m just not hungry.” But instead of leaving like he normally would, she heard Gerald come into the room and close the door.
“When I was your age I was prone to gazing mournfully out of windows whenever something was wrong.”
“I’m not gazing mournfully out of the window,” Amber said, turning to gaze mournfully into the room.
“Hmm,” Gerald said, staring at her critically, the way he did at his unfinished paintings.
“I’m just a bit fed up with someone at school, that’s all,” Amber said.
“And what did this someone do?” Gerald asked. Despite being nearly sixty, he still had a powerful presence about him, especially when he looked angry or concerned, like now. And seeing his concern made Amber’s resolve waiver. She wiped her tears away.
“She likes to make my life hell,” Amber muttered. “But it was OK when it was just at school. I’m used to it at school, but now – now she’s read my blog and she’s making my life hell there too.”
Tell It to the Moon Page 15