Meet Me at the Cupcake Café

by Jenny Colgan

  ‘Oh,’ said Issy, suddenly feeling quite faint.

  ‘Let me see! Let me see!’ said Zac, anxious to hold a 3D representation of his design. It was absolutely lovely; pure craftsmanship and quite beautiful.

  ‘That is far too lovely to be a keyring,’ said Pearl straight away, and Issy nodded.

  ‘I know,’ she said. ‘It’s lovely. I think I’ll hang it in the window.’

  And although everyone else’s gifts – Jo Malone smellies, and Madeleine Hamilton scarves, and Cath Kidston cake tins – would be treasured, somehow Issy knew that the keyring was the most special gift of all. There was something about it being metal – not like cake, good for a day, or paper menus, good for a couple of weeks. This would last for many, many years. Which made her think that the café might, too.

  There was one person missing. She knew it, she couldn’t deny it. She knew if he’d been well enough, nothing would have kept him away. And in the midst of all her happiness, Issy felt a cold chill blow through her.

  Even though the evening stayed warm, people started to drift away after that; friends who’d come from far away and were facing late trains; those with babysitters to relieve, and long commutes in the morning, and Pearl with Louis, who had fallen fast asleep under the tree. Issy turned round at one point to realize that most people were gone, and there were only a scattering, slightly drunk now, dotted around the courtyard. Felipe was playing a winding-down kind of a song.

  She looked up and realized that, one, she was in front of Austin, and two, she was very pissed. Very pissed and very happy, she realized. Was it because she was in front of Austin? Could that be the connection? She always seemed happier after she saw him, that was true. But maybe that was because he was lending her money. It was all very confusing.

  Austin bit his lip and looked at Issy. She did look so pretty, and so sweet, but she was obviously quite drunk, so it was definitely time for him to go home. He had quite a lot of success with women – some of whom were intrigued and some very much not by the plethora of Batman-related merchandise they found when they got back to his house; either they wanted to move in and play mummies and daddies, or backed off at the speed of light. Austin enjoyed playing the field on his rare nights off, and was absolutely adamant that he didn’t want to introduce more upset into Darny’s life until the boy was a little more … well, just a bit more stable. It didn’t stop him, though. From wanting someone around a bit. Short-term dalliances were easy to find; especially when people had been drinking. But sometimes he thought he might be ready for something a bit more solid; he was over thirty after all. Normally he felt he had enough grown-up stuff in his life without going to the bother of an adult relationship. But sometimes – like now – he thought it might be nice.

  ‘Hey,’ said Issy.

  But Issy, thought Austin to himself, forgetting instantly a lot of other evenings. She was … she’d got under his skin. He couldn’t deny it. It was her eager face; the slightly wounded look it took on if she thought anyone was in trouble; the optimism of her little pink-iced cakes, and the dogged man hours she had put into making the shop a success; he liked it. He had to be honest. He liked all of it. He liked her. And here she was, face rosy and tentative, pointed up towards him. The fairy lights glowed in the tree, and the stars shone brightly overhead and after her ‘hey’ neither of them spoke: it didn’t seem to be in the least bit necessary. Issy was gazing up at him, biting her lip. Slowly, almost without even thinking what he was doing, he took his large hand and gently, with a feathery touch, ran it delicately down the line of her jaw.

  Issy shivered under his touch and he saw her eyes widen. He brought his hand up now, and cupped her face with a firmer grasp, all the time staring straight into her wide green eyes. Issy felt her heart pound with excitement as if she’d been jump-started by a defibrillator. For the first time in what felt like months, the blood began to pump faster in her veins. She leaned into his warm dry hand, feeling its embrace on her skin, then looked at him with a message that was very clear: yes.

  Graeme stepped out of the cab. His flight had been late getting in from Edinburgh, but he didn’t care; he had no time to waste. It was entirely possible she was still hanging about her stupid shop, icing buns or whatever it was she did, and if she wasn’t, he could just go straight to the flat. He slammed the cab door, not forgetting to ask for a blank receipt. He could see there were people outside the café, though it was hard to make out in the dim light. Issy must be among them. He walked out of the shadows and into the throng. The ones who knew Graeme immediately fell silent.

  Issy, caught up in Austin’s eyes, only felt the change in the air around her. She turned her head, as Graeme, handsome as ever, beautifully dressed, stood underneath the street lights.

  ‘Issy,’ he said, quietly. Issy leapt back from Austin as if she’d been stung.

  Austin looked up. Although they’d never met, he took one look at Graeme, and decided to leave.

  Graeme had been doing a lot of thinking in Edinburgh. There was just something about that place. Lot of expensive real estate too. It definitely felt like there was something in the air, something was picking up again. But it was just so bloody quaint, that city; full of little alleyways and hidden squares and cobblestones and back streets. And everyone was completely mad for it. You could see it; the tourists, the students, the people coming up for a look, or the people who wanted to live there. It was all about character nowadays. People didn’t want a skyscraper or a brick-walled loft or a cool box to live in, although he didn’t understand why – he thought all of these things, with their air con and security keys, were obviously better than old places. But not everyone agreed with him. People wanted quaint old places, with ‘personality’. Graeme thought this was bollocks – people should go for stuff that worked and places that were comfortable. But on the other hand, if they were prepared to pay over the odds for it – he reasoned as he lounged in his expensive turret room, in his expensive boutique hotel – if they were prepared to pay over the odds for properties that looked cute, then who was he, Graeme, to stand in their way?

  And that was when he’d had his brilliant idea. He was incredibly impressed with himself. And it would work for everyone. He had to get back to London right away, it was so brilliant. The Pear Tree Condominiums.

  He knew condominium only meant flat, but it sounded American, and in his experience American was always better. Live/work spaces in a quaint old courtyard, only steps from Stoke Newington High Street, but lovely and peaceful and away from the road. But the clever bit – the really clever bit – was that they would look old, but in fact that would just be the frontage. They’d redo the whole thing. They’d tear out all those stupid little windows with the glass you couldn’t see through, and the draughty old wooden doors, and replace them with proper PVC frames and metal doors with a fingerprint entry system (the City boys loved those), and security cameras perched above them – in fact, his heart had really started to beat fast at this bit. Maybe they could even put a gate across the alleyway, so it was like you had your own private compound! That would be ace! And you could park in the courtyard, they’d just cut down the tree. It would be fantastic. And it would all look cute but be full of the latest hi-tech gizmos – air con, and wine fridges, and state-of-the-art entertainment systems.

  The best thing was, he congratulated himself, he could cut Issy in on the deal. After all, it was only fair; she’d brought the area to his attention, which deserved a finder’s fee. She could come back and work with him – but not taking the minutes now, she could be a proper agent if she wanted. That would be a huge leg-up for her. And he was going to … he couldn’t believe he was going to do it. If anyone had said Graeme, you old sap, you are going to turn into a house cat, get under the whip, he wouldn’t have believed them.

  But there were things, he had come to realize since they’d been apart, that were good about Issy, when she wasn’t flaying her fingers to the bone in that stupid café. Her cooking. Her inter
est in him. The way she made everything feel slightly softer, slightly easier and gentler in his life when he was out fighting like a tiger all day. He liked it. He wanted it around. He was prepared to make the biggest sacrifice, while also improving her life immeasurably – no more 6am starts – and making a huge pile of money into the bargain. It was so obvious. He had solved everything. He was going to be top dog at the firm again. He was going to take his mates’ slagging off about the fact that he’d settled for a woman who, OK, wasn’t exactly a size 10 Swedish underwear model. He could handle it. He knew what he wanted. And of course she’d agree.

  ‘Issy,’ he said again, and she looked at him. She seemed slightly nervous, he realized. She must be expectant and excited; she must know something was up. He was going to blow her mind, right from the off.

  ‘Iss … I’ve been an idiot. I was a total idiot to let you slip through my fingers. I’ve really missed you. Can we get back together?’

  Issy’s mind was an absolute hive of confusion. Helena was shaking her head. Graeme stepped forward, noting quickly the cards and gifts piled up and coming to the obvious conclusion. Why, this was even better!

  ‘Happy birthday, darling,’ he said. ‘Did you miss me?’

  Austin loped home, kicking himself. Would he never learn? Crossly, he unlocked his front door, freed the babysitter from Darny’s under-table pirate prison, paid her double time as usual, and listlessly hailed her a cab. Bugger it.

  Issy stood frozen to the ground. She couldn’t believe it. The very thing she’d dreamed of happening; wept over; wished for more than anything: Graeme, here, begging forgiveness, for another chance.

  Graeme fumbled in his bag and pulled out his airport purchase.

  ‘Uh, here,’ he said.

  Graeme! Bringing her a present! Wonders would never cease! Issy could feel Helena’s eyes boring into her back. Still unable to speak, she drew the gift out of the plastic bag. It was a bottle of whisky.

  ‘Finest malt,’ said Graeme. ‘Costs a hundred and fifty quid normally.’

  Issy forced her face into a smile.

  ‘I don’t drink whisky,’ she said.

  ‘I know,’ said Graeme. ‘I thought you might like to put it into your cakes or something. For your very important, very successful business.’

  Issy looked at him.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he said again. ‘I didn’t take you seriously. I was wrong. Can I make it up to you?’

  Issy stood, hugging herself. It felt like the wind was rising, it was definitely getting a little colder. Graeme peered into the darkened windows of the Cupcake Café, then glanced up at the empty properties around it. He did a full circuit of Pear Tree Court, tapping his fingers meditatively.

  ‘You know,’ he said, ‘I always knew this place would come good.’

  ‘You big fat liar!’ said Issy before she could stop herself. ‘You thought I was going to starve to death.’

  ‘Hmm. Reverse psychology,’ said Graeme. ‘Yeah, that’s what it was.’

  ‘Was it?’ said Issy.

  ‘Anyway, it’s come good. Good for you.’

  ‘Good for Issy!’ said Helena loudly, and raised her glass, then the few remaining party people raised their glasses too, and it felt like the party was over after that, and Issy didn’t know what to do. Helena was no help, setting off home with Ashok, which meant she didn’t really want to go back there with Graeme, the walls not being all that … and so on.

  ‘We need to talk,’ she said to Graeme, buying time.

  ‘We do!’ said Graeme cheerfully, hailing a cab to take them both to Notting Hill, and quietly, confidently, slipping a breath mint into his mouth.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Helena’s Secret Doughnuts

  Buy real ginger. It looks like a knobby root thing. You can ask someone if you can’t figure it out. Not that fruiterer who always asks you if you want any melons. He’s disgusting. Right, now, nick one of those medicine-measuring thingies from work. I know they’re the only ones you can figure out as long as it’s in centilitres or whatever. So do it from that. OK, now grate it.

  Stop looking in the mirror on the extractor fan. You’re gorgeous, and if you don’t keep stirring the mix, it’s going to set solid and you’ll get ginger biscuits.

  OK, here it is. And the answer is, lime curd. Mrs Darlington’s, from Penrith. You’d never have guessed in a bazillion years.

  900g plain flour plus additional for dusting

  4 tsp baking powder

  2 tsp baking soda

  1½ tsp salt

  1½ tsp grated ginger

  400g sugar

  2 oz crystallized ginger, coarsely chopped

  500g well-shaken buttermilk

  60g unsalted butter, melted and cooled slightly

  2 large eggs

  1 tbsp vegetable oil

  45cl lime curd

  Whisk together flour, baking powder, baking soda, salt, and ¾ teaspoon grated ginger in a large bowl. Whisk together 300g sugar and remaining ¾ teaspoon grated ginger in a shallow bowl. Pulse remaining 100g sugar with crystallized ginger in a food processor until ginger is finely chopped. Transfer this to a bowl and whisk in buttermilk, butter and eggs until smooth. Add buttermilk mixture to flour mixture and stir until a dough forms (dough will be sticky). Turn out dough on to a well-floured surface and knead gently just until it comes together, 10 to 12 times, then form into a ball. Lightly dust work surface and dough with flour, then roll out dough into a 13-inch round (about 1/3 inch thick) with a floured rolling pin. Cut out rounds with a floured cutter and transfer to a lighly floured baking sheet. Gather scraps and reroll, then cut out additional rounds. (Reroll only once.) Heat oil in a wide heavy pot until a splash would result in third-degree burns. Working in batches of seven or eight, carefully add rounds, one at a time, to oil and fry, turning over once, until golden brown, one and a half to two minutes in total per batch. Transfer to paper towels to drain. Cool slightly, then dredge in ginger sugar. Gently slice doughnuts in half and spoon lime curd on the bottom half; top with the second half of the doughnut. Serve three or so to a plate, garnished with slices of crystallized ginger.

  ‘Well, that took you five blooming seconds,’ said Helena.

  ‘Stop it,’ said Issy, looking to Pearl for back-up.

  ‘Yeah,’ said Pearl. ‘More like four.’

  ‘They don’t respect you if you go running back,’ said Caroline. ‘I haven’t spoken to the Bastard in months.’

  ‘How’s that working out?’ said Pearl.

  ‘Fine, thank you, Pearl,’ sniffed Caroline loudly. ‘Ectually, the children see more of him now than they did when we were still together. One Saturday afternoon a fortnight. I’m sure he hates it, he’s taken them to the zoo three times. Good.’

  ‘Well, nice to know what I’ve got to look forward to,’ said Issy, who’d been expecting people to be slightly more positive about the fact that she had a boyfriend again.

  ‘What about that gorgeous man from the bank?’ said Helena.

  ‘That is strictly professional,’ said Issy, lying. But Austin had disappeared at the speed of light. She knew he didn’t want a relationship, and he had Darny. It was stupid to fantasize about things she couldn’t have, like dreaming about a pop star. Whereas having Graeme come back to her …

  ‘Plus, I have my eye on him,’ said Caroline.

  ‘What for, fostering?’ said Helena.

  ‘Sorry, do you work here?’ said Caroline. ‘I only hang about because I get paid.’

  ‘Well, I think it’s kind of amazing he’s realized he was wrong and come crawling back,’ said Issy. ‘No? Nobody?’

  The other women looked at each other.

  ‘Well, if you’re happy,’ said Pearl, encouragingly. ‘He is nice, that man from the bank though.’

  ‘Shut up about the man from the bank,’ said Issy. ‘Oh. Sorry. I didn’t mean to shout. But I’ve just … it’s been so lonely. Even with all of you guys, I know. But setting everything up and sortin
g everything out myself and then going home alone because Helena’s smooching up a doctor …’

  ‘Who adores me,’ added Helena. ‘… and now he’s back, and he wants to make a real go of it, and that’s all I ever wanted.’

  There was a pause.

  ‘Five seconds though,’ said Helena. Issy stuck her tongue out at her. She knew what she was doing. Didn’t she?

  Issy sat up, hugging her knees, several days later as Graeme got ready for an early morning squash match. ‘What’s with you, Iss?’ he said, smiling. She still couldn’t believe how handsome he looked: his chiselled chest, with a light sprinkling of dark hair; his broad shoulders and white-toothed smile. He winked at her staring. Ever since she’d come back with him that night he’d been like a different person: romantic, thoughtful, always asking her questions about the bakery and Pear Tree Court and how she liked it there.

  But still, a bit of her was cross with herself. She wasn’t at his beck and call. She didn’t run back to him just because he happened to be around. She hadn’t even rung Helena, who had texted eleven times to ask if she would a) come back, b) get in touch, or c) let Helena have her room. Issy hated to think that all he had to do was wiggle his eyebrows and she would jump into bed.

  But she had missed it so much. She’d missed the human touch, the companionship; going home to someone at the end of the day. She had got so lonely she’d nearly made a complete fool of herself in front of her banking adviser, for goodness’ sake. It was embarrassing. She went pink just thinking about it. She had risked turning into a crazy spinster. And when she saw how happy Helena and Ashok were, or Zac and Noriko, or Paul and John or any of her friends, all coupled up, all cheery (or so they seemed) at her party – well, why couldn’t she have a bit of that? She wished they could see her now, all loved up and sweet, like in a toothpaste advert. Graeme, she mused dreamily, would probably get a job in a toothpaste advert.