Confetti & Cake

by Laurel Remington

  ‘They look beautiful,’ I say.

  Violet blushes. ‘Yeah, it’s been fun. I’m just about to start piping the macarons. Fraser’s going to do the filling. Do you want to help?’

  ‘OK.’ I don’t want to be a third wheel, but baking is just what I need to get over the stress of not dealing with the TV thing.

  Violet pipes and Fraser mixes. I put the first batch in the oven, and do some washing up. We chat and laugh, and taste the mixture, and the first batch that come out of the oven. It’s fun – as usual.

  We make four trays of lovely, rainbow macarons. As they’re cooling on the racks we start to clean up the kitchen. Then, after carefully piping in the fillings for one of each flavour, it’s the moment we each get to try one. I take a light purple one with lavender crème in the middle. Fraser takes a chocolate one, and Violet a strawberry one. I bite into mine.

  ‘OMG, this is amazing!’ I say. ‘Even better than the shortbread.’

  Violet smiles wistfully. ‘Yeah. I think so too.’

  ‘Your mum would be proud,’ Fraser says.

  Violet nods silently. A tear leaks from her eye.

  Fraser and I glance at each other. We go back to finish cleaning up to give her some space. Violet eats her second macaron – a light green mint – and puts the rest of the unfilled macarons into a tin. Finally, she turns to me. ‘How does tomorrow sound?’

  ‘Uh . . .’ I say, feeling like I’m being pulled back to earth, ‘for what?’

  ‘To visit my old house,’ Violet says. ‘It’s the um . . . anniversary. If that’s OK with you, can you check with Nick?’

  I think of the wedding, and how Mum’s counting on me. I think of the TV producer and about how the whole idea of being on TV by myself is turning my stomach inside out. I think of Dad, and Em-K, the lies Mum told. All of it flashes before my eyes, in a rainbow swirl of biscuits.

  ‘Sure,’ I say. ‘Tomorrow it is.’

  Going too far

  After Fraser and Violet leave, I sit in Rosemary’s Kitchen for a while with Treacle on my lap, stroking his velvety black fur. By the time I go through the wall back to our house, it’s after 8.30 p.m. The door to the Mum Cave is closed – which is a relief. Now that I’ve messed up the meeting with the TV producer, I really don’t want a confrontation with Mum.

  As I’m about to go to the front room, my sister comes out. ‘Look Scarlett!’ She points to two big cardboard boxes in the hall. They must have arrived while we were baking, because I didn’t see them earlier.

  ‘What are those?’ I say.

  ‘Dad came by and dropped them off. You just missed him.’

  ‘Dad? He came here?’

  ‘Yeah, he dropped Mum off and brought in the presents.’

  I feel an odd mixture of relief and disappointment that I missed seeing Dad. He’s right – it is easier reading what he has to say rather than talking face to face. But eventually, I’ll have to see him again. One thing’s for sure, though – I don’t like the fact that he’s giving Mum rides and bringing presents.

  ‘Where’s Mum now?’ I say.

  Her face falls. ‘I don’t know. She said she needed to call Em-K and that I should wait till she’s done to open the box.’

  ‘OK. I’ll go and see her. Practise your Wii singing, OK?’

  ‘But Scarlett, I’ve done that already.’

  ‘Fine. Watch TV.’

  I close the door to the front room and go back to the kitchen. The door to the Mum Cave is still shut, and I put my ear next to the keyhole, listening.

  ‘Seriously . . .’ Mum is saying, her voice high and unnatural. ‘Can’t you do this one thing for me?’

  Obviously I can’t hear the reply, but there’s the sound of Mum getting up and pacing the room.

  ‘I know it’s a short time. That’s why I’m asking.’

  More silence.

  ‘No – absolutely not. I’m doing the TV show. Or else, well . . . you can forget the whole thing.’

  I straighten up and go to the fridge, remembering that I haven’t had any dinner. But in truth, I’m not hungry. I know Mum’s really stressed right now, but these arguments she’s having with Em-K make me really worried. He’s usually very calm and rational when they argue, and Mum seems like a great big bully. Especially now.

  ‘Fine. Be like that.’ I hear Mum’s angry words even without listening at the door. Then, there’s the sound of something being thrown. Her phone, probably. I’ve seen it happen before – it’s a wonder it still works.

  I put some cheese biscuits and a wedge of applewood smoked cheddar on a plate and go back to the front room.

  ‘Please can I open my box?’ Kelsie begs.

  ‘What did Mum say?’

  ‘To wait.’

  ‘Well then . . .’

  I sit next to my sister on the sofa and we watch a recording of Junior Bake Off. ‘I’d love to be on TV,’ Kelsie says. ‘Wouldn’t you?’

  ‘No,’ I say between mouthfuls of cheese and biscuits. ‘But I’m sure if you want to when you’re older, Mum would love it.’

  ‘Love what?’

  I turn. Mum’s standing at the door. Her hair is messy and she’s wearing an old sweatshirt. It’s the first time I’ve seen her looking so rumpled since she started seeing Em-K.

  ‘Nothing, just talking about being on TV,’ I say. ‘You OK, Mum?’

  ‘Yes, yes,’ she waves a hand. ‘Just the usual. Now, Kels . . .’ she turns to my sister, all smiles. ‘Let’s see what your dad brought you this time, shall we? He’s so thoughtful!’

  Kelsie attacks the box, ripping at the cardboard while Mum tries to undo the tape. I sit back and watch, dreading the moment when it’s my turn to open up the box addressed to me.

  ‘Oh, look, Mum! It’s amazing!’ Kelsie pulls out a giant brown teddy bear. It has a tag from Hamley’s around its neck. It’s almost as big as my sister, and she hugs it, squealing with delight.

  ‘It’s just the one I told him about! Can I call Dad now? I want to say thank you!’

  ‘Sure,’ Mum says. I stand up, ready to take my plate to the kitchen and head upstairs. The whole thing’s put a sour taste in my mouth – Mum’s fight with Em-K, Kelsie’s delight over the present. Rather than a teddy bear, it’s more like there’s an elephant in the room.

  ‘Aren’t you going to open your box, Scarlett?’ Mum says from behind me.

  I whirl around, anger swimming in my chest. ‘No, I’m not.’ I keep my voice low and icy. ‘I don’t need anything from Dad – as in, the man who left us. The man who hurt us, turned his back on us, and sent me a fiver twice a year.’ I grip the plate tightly in my hand.

  ‘The man who waltzes back into our lives just when you’re supposed to be marrying Em-K. Unless you drive him away too.’

  Without meaning to, I’ve gone too far. Mum’s face morphs into something ugly and green.

  ‘How dare you,’ she hisses. She takes a step towards me and I shrink back. She holds up her hand, and takes off her ring. She holds it up to her eye, and it glints in the light. Then, she throws it down on the sofa next to me. It bounces off the cushion and on to the floor.

  ‘You think you’re so smart, Scarlett, don’t you? Always judging me – always complaining. But you don’t know anything about being a grown-up – anything at all!’

  My sister buries her face in her bear’s fur, looking like she might cry. I look past her to where the ring is lying on the floor. Mum makes no move to go and pick it up.

  I jump up and run out of the door.

  ‘That’s it – go on, walk away,’ she calls after me. ‘Leave the rest of us here to muddle through. That’s what you do isn’t it?’

  My whole body is shaking as I stagger up the stairs. Behind me, the door of the front room opens. There’s another loud thunk as Mum heaves the box from Dad out into the hall, and slams the door.

  Rainbow macarons

  Istay in my room for the rest of the evening, feeling awful. Why did I pick a fight with Mum – and
now of all times! I know I should go down and apologize – try to talk to her and make things right. But I don’t. Half of me expects her to come up, knocking softly on my door the way she often does, asking if we can talk. But she doesn’t. I take out my phone to call Violet, then put it away again. We’re supposed to be going to the place she used to live tomorrow after school – it’s about an hour away by train. But I’m double-booked with an appointment to see Producer Poppy. I can’t let Violet down – she needs me. But if I don’t turn up at the meeting, then Mum will be breathing fire.

  In the end, I feel so conflicted that I don’t cancel either one. I plug my phone into the charger next to my bed, and turn on my computer. Without even a second thought, I click on the mail icon and read the new one that’s come in from Dad:

  Hi Scarlett,

  Sorry I missed you earlier. I hope you can make use of the little gift I left for you. I know it’s a lot to ask, but I was wondering – would you be able to come over to my flat one evening so we can talk, just the two of us?

  If you did come, maybe I could cook dinner – or we could even do it together? You may not remember, but I used to love to cook. I was pretty rubbish at it, I admit, but it was something I always enjoyed doing. The smells and the flavours, mixing things together that seem to belong that way – it’s a wonderful creative outlet for a bloke like me who doesn’t have much creativity in the day job. Anyway, it was just a thought. I hope that you’re keeping well, and that maybe, one day, we can get together.

  Dad x

  There’s nothing for it – I break down in tears, feeling like my heart is about to tear in two. I’m not quite sure why I’m crying, but it seems like something I should have done a long time ago. I never cried when Dad went away – not really. I suppose in a way, I bottled everything up, just like Violet did when her parents were killed. And now, just like she’s facing her demons and her fears, I need to face mine.

  I hit reply and type.

  Dinner would be nice. Maybe on Saturday?

  I press the send key and the little paper aeroplane symbol zooms off, tearing off a piece of me as it goes.

  I don’t see Mum the next morning, despite waiting around a little longer at breakfast in the hope she’ll come down. I even go up and listen at the door of her bedroom. From inside, there’s the sound of typing, just like she used to do in the old days on Friday mornings when her blog post telling the world the gory details of my life would go live at 8 a.m. I want to knock – say sorry, try to patch things up. But just then Kelsie yells from downstairs that she can’t find her PE bag, so to avoid being late for school, I decide to leave it.

  On my way out, I go through the hole in the wall and get the tin of macarons. I helped Violet make a sign: ‘In memory.’ We’ll fill them at school and leave them in the canteen at lunch. There’s also plenty of extra for us to eat on the train and, if anyone answers the door at Violet’s old house, we’ll offer them some too. I tuck the tin under my arm and herd Kelsie out of the door. We both have to squeeze past the large box in the hall from Dad that I still haven’t opened.

  Unsurprisingly, Violet looks worried and stressed all through the day at school. I corner her after lunch in the girls’ loo. ‘Are you sure you want to do this?’ I say. ‘You don’t have to.’

  She looks at herself in the mirror, wincing at the dark circles under her eyes and pinching her cheeks to add some colour.

  ‘I don’t know if I have to or not,’ she says. ‘But I’m going to.’ She turns to me. ‘Thanks for coming along. I mean, I’m kind of regretting inviting Fraser. Weird date, huh?’

  I laugh. ‘Maybe. But this will be a good test. See if he’s worth it?’

  ‘Yeah, I guess. You and Nick OK?’

  I think about the question. When I’d texted him about the trip, he’d had something on – rugby or science club, or cross country – I can’t quite remember which. Since baking Dad’s cake – which seems like ages ago – I’ve barely seen Nick other than to say hello to in the corridor. So I was really glad when he said he’d skip his other thing, and come along.

  ‘Yeah,’ I shrug. ‘As you say, weird date.’

  This time, she laughs too.

  The four of us meet up after school as planned. We catch a bus to the station and buy our tickets. Violet is putting on a brave face, and luckily Nick chats with Fraser about computer games, so there’s no lag in the conversation.

  As the train pulls up to the platform, I squeeze Violet’s hand. She smiles gratefully, and the four of us, plus one tin of macarons, get on the train.

  The journey takes an hour. I’ve already filled Nick in on where we’re going and why. I try to join in the conversation between Nick and Fraser but it’s all kind of awkward. Violet mostly stares out of the window. Fraser glances at her from time to time, looking, I think, a bit terrified. I smile encouragingly, and give Nick a little elbow to keep talking.

  Eventually, we arrive. The station is busy and confusing, and we have to ask three different guards before we find the right bus stop. By the time we finally do, Violet is looking absolutely green. ‘Seriously, you don’t have to do this,’ I remind her again. ‘We could go and see a film or – whatever there is to do around here.’

  ‘I’m fine.’ It’s obvious that she’s lying.

  ‘You’re very brave,’ I say, quietly, so that the others won’t hear.

  We get off the bus on a main road that could be anywhere. Just off the main road are some streets of small houses, mostly red brick semis. Violet leads the way, turning down a road called Primrose Gardens. The houses along it are small with neat front gardens, some with small squares of lawn, others paved, and with minivans and cars in the drives.

  She stops in front of a small house with white pebble-dash on the upper floor. There’s a small porch with No. 14 on it. The front door is framed by two pots of red geraniums. Around the side of the house, there’s a pink tricycle parked next to the recycling bins. There’s a parcel left on the mat, and no car in the drive. Whoever’s living there must be out.

  ‘This is it,’ Violet says. Her face is pinched and ghostly white.

  Now that we’re here, I’ve no idea what we need to do to get her the closure she needs. I reach out and grip Nick’s hand. He gives mine a squeeze, but I can tell he doesn’t have a clue either.

  ‘Should we ring the bell and see if anyone’s home?’ Fraser says.

  Violet shakes her head. Her grip on the tin of macarons loosens a little. ‘No one’s home,’ she says. ‘But it doesn’t matter. I see that now.’

  She plops down on the kerb outside the house. Silently, she opens the tin.

  I’m not sure what to do, so I sit down next to her.

  ‘What flavour would you like?’ she says.

  ‘I don’t know . . . um . . . mint.’

  ‘Good choice.’

  She hands me a green macaron. Nick and Fraser take the hint and sit down too – Nick next to me, and Fraser next to Violet. She doles out macarons to them – chocolate for Nick and lavender for Fraser.

  ‘The house looks totally different,’ she says, taking a pink macaron from the basket. ‘It used to be painted grey. And did you see the tricycle? They must have a kid.’

  ‘Yeah.’ I’m totally baffled by the sudden change in her attitude and don’t know what to say.

  ‘I remember . . .’ she continues, ‘how my mum taught me to ride a bike without stabilizers. I was so cross because I thought I couldn’t learn. But I didn’t even know when she let go.’ She opens the macaron and licks at the rose-pink filling. ‘And when we came back inside, Dad made me a big mug of hot chocolate with whipped cream and candy sprinkles.’ She smiles. ‘I think that’s why I’ve got such a sweet tooth now.’

  ‘What colour was your bike?’ Fraser asks. He alone seems unfazed.

  ‘Pink glitter, of course!’ Violet giggles. ‘With silver streamers on the handlebars.’

  ‘Of course!’ Fraser laughs.

  She passes out more macaron
s – each one beautiful and tasting so different. I try a strawberry one. The outside is crunchy and the filling is slightly bittersweet. It seems right somehow.

  ‘And did your mum cook?’ Nick asks. ‘Is that where you get your talent from?’

  ‘Well I don’t know about talent,’ Violet’s pale cheeks flush. ‘But yes, she did. She used to bake bread – on Saturdays. I remember that. It was the best bread ever. Really soft on the inside, with a crisp crust. It took her ages to make it. But she did.’ She bites into another macaron, smiling at the memory.

  ‘Which one was your room?’ I finally find my voice.

  ‘It was at the back. The walls were yellow, and I had a Disney Princess bed. It was covered with stuffed toys. Mum used to say that there was no room for—’

  She stops speaking as a blue car pulls into the drive. A blonde-haired woman a little younger than Mum gets out. She doesn’t seem to notice us, but goes around to the back doors of the car to unstrap two small children – a girl with her ginger hair in pigtails, and a boy wearing a Liverpool football kit. The mum opens the boot and takes out two overflowing Tesco bags full of shopping. A box of Weetabix falls out on to the drive. Nick runs up and hands it to her.

  ‘Thanks,’ she says, eyeing him suspiciously. She then notices the rest of us. ‘Uh, can I help you?’ she says.

  ‘No thanks.’ Violet stands up. ‘We were just leaving.’ She closes the tin and starts to walk away.

  ‘Hey, wait a minute,’ Fraser calls after her. He turns to the woman. ‘She used to live here,’ he says. ‘She came by to see her old house.’

  ‘Oh, really?’ The woman sets down her shopping bags. Nick immediately picks them up and carries them up to the door. ‘It’s a nice house,’ the woman says. ‘We just moved here – last year. The schools are good. And my mum lives just around the corner.’