Cupcake Couture

by Davies, Lauren

  Heidi was taking pictures of the cakes with her phone while Roxy scowled at a cupcake and bit into it with the venom of a cobra.

  ‘You’re so talented, Chloe,’ Heidi sighed. ‘These really are works of art.’

  I smiled and shifted on my feet tucked underneath me on the rug.

  ‘Er, thanks.’

  ‘I know you don’t like being “arty”’ – Heidi made inverted commas in the air – ‘but there’s no other word for it, they’re just stunning. I’m sure we’ll make loads of money for the kiddies.’

  ‘Other people’s kiddies,’ Roxy grumbled, ‘why do we have to make money for them?’

  ‘Bah humbug,’ I said with a wry smile. ‘Maybe we should just tell them Santa doesn’t exist and then keep the money for ourselves.’

  Roxy shrugged and angrily turned the pages of her magazine.

  ‘So they taste alright then?’ I asked Heidi.

  ‘Are you kidding, pet? They’re the best cupcakes I’ve ever tasted.’

  I smiled knowingly.

  The best cupcakes in the world.

  ‘Try as many as you like, girls, I’ve made far too many. I was just having such fun making them and with the snow so thick, there wasn’t much else to do so I just kept on baking.’ I paused when I saw the way Heidi was staring at me. ‘What? What are you looking at me like that for?’

  Heidi winked and sipped her drink.

  ‘No reason. I just haven’t seen that sparkle in your eye for, well for a long time, Chloe pet.’

  I knew she was right.

  ‘It’s just my hobby, that’s all.’

  She nodded knowingly. I gulped my drink down then reached for my recipe notebook and opened it on a new page. I clicked my pen into action.

  ‘Right so we have work to do. You have to taste and talk. I need to know they’re alright and I want your opinions on the flavour combinations before we unleash them on the public tomorrow. I’ve never sold them before so I have to know they’re not going to make anyone sick.’

  ‘Fuuffin luff,’ said Roxy with a mouthful of sponge.

  ‘I think she said they’re lush.’

  Roxy swallowed.

  ‘No I didn’t, I said fucking lush.’

  Heidi pursed her lips. I laughed and began to write.

  ‘Breakfast sarnie cupcake is officially “fucking lush”. Ha, now that would be a controversial marketing slogan. Right, Christmas Cupcakes next. Eat!’

  ‘So, the chocolate and cherry cupcakes get the highest number of votes, followed by the footballers,’ I said, checking the marks again, ‘but admittedly this research group is limited in number and somewhat biased.’

  ‘Aye but you’ve got to admit we’ve always been honest with you, Chloe man. If you served me a cake that tasted like shite I’d tell you,’ said Roxy.

  ‘That I can believe. I just hope the customers tomorrow have similar opinions.’

  Roxy sniffed.

  ‘Howay, Chloe, it’s just a flea market.’

  ‘I know but I’ve put my heart and soul into these cakes.’ I clutched the second bottle of Cava. ‘What if they tell me they’re disgusting and that I can’t bake?’

  ‘You’re not singing for Simon chuffing Cowell,’ Roxy snorted, ‘you’re just chucking some cakes on a table and hoping the day will pass without us freezing our tits off in the process.’

  Heidi, who was lying on the rug holding her stomach, shook her head against the shag pile.

  ‘It’ll be fun, Roxy, you’ll see.’

  ‘Aye right, ‘course it will, like sticking burning needles in my eyes. I’m coming just because you’ve put me on a guilt trip and I haven’t got anyone else to go shopping with, but I’m warning you now if any old biddies start spitting on me and clicking their dentures I’m out of there.’

  ‘You’re so giving,’ I laughed.

  Heidi rolled her eyes.

  ‘Well fingers crossed it’s worth getting up at…’

  She stopped when I made a cutthroat motion with my hand and jerked my head towards Roxy. Both girls were staying over because my flat was within walking distance to the flea market, but it was always better to not pre-warn Roxy about our early start or she would go to bed like a bear with a sore head and wake up even angrier. I preferred not to give her the choice, especially when she was already acting like said bear with the early signs of a migraine. Heidi winked, catching on. She finished her Cava then breathed in and held her stomach.

  ‘Ee, I’m not sure my jeans will do up tomorrow morning. Is there any chance you can develop a calorie free cupcake that tastes just as good as the others?’

  ‘Good idea, I’ll work on that for our next session,’ I said as I refilled Heidi’s glass.

  ‘Are you saying I’m fat?’ Roxy growled from behind her magazine.

  ‘Of course not. If you’re fat then there’s no hope for the rest of us.’

  My hand hovered above Roxy’s glass that was still half full.

  ‘Don’t you like the Cava, Roxy?’

  ‘Nah, man, it’s fine. I just don’t feel like drinking that’s all.’

  Heidi spat her drink across the rug and I nearly dropped the bottle.

  ‘Oh my God, did you just say what I think you said? I think the earth might have shifted on its axis,’ I gasped.

  Heidi giggled and wiped a drip from her chin.

  ‘I think Hell just froze over,’ she laughed.

  ‘And the Pope has converted to Buddhism.’

  Roxy put down her magazine and glared at us.

  ‘It’s not that unusual like.’

  ‘Yes it is,’ we chorused.

  ‘I knew there was something wrong. You don’t seem yourself,’ I added. ‘You seem rather anxious.’

  Roxy pouted her high-glossed lips.

  ‘You’d be fucking anxious too if you hadn’t been able to smoke a single bleedin’ tab all week.’

  Heidi clapped and my jaw dropped open.

  ‘You’ve given up smoking? Well done, Roxy, pet!’

  ‘Hold on, you’ve been smoking longer than most chimneys and you love it. Why would you suddenly give up smoking and dri…?’

  Even before I had finished my sentence, the next one formed in my head. I looked at Heidi and knew she was thinking the same thing. We both looked at Roxy and I knew. We had all known each other too long not to know. If you know what I mean?

  Heidi shuffled towards Roxy on her knees. I leapt up and sat beside her on the sofa. Roxy sat up, placed her feet on the ground and fiddled with her long, acrylic nails. She looked suddenly unsure of herself, which was another highly unusual characteristic. When Roxy looked up at us again, her face stony, I held my breath and waited for her to speak.

  ‘Alright, I suppose you’re going to know eventually. Yes, I’m up the fucking duff, bun in the oven, very soon going to become a fat cow with swollen ankles and saggy tits, peeing every two minutes, forced to wear jeans with an elastic fucking waistband and, on my God, I feel sick.’

  ‘Morning sickness?’ asked Heidi.

  ‘No, the thought of stretch marks,’ Roxy replied with a visible shiver.

  ‘So that’s what you wanted to tell us both!’ I gasped.

  Roxy nodded.

  ‘Aye that next year I will be expected to push a small person out of my fanny. I mean I know it’s had a lot of passing traffic but generally going the other way, which is how I like it.’

  I choked on my own laughter.

  ‘The miracle of life so poetically described. So that’s why you were sick after the pub?’

  Roxy nodded sagely.

  ‘Aye, which I feel canny bad about now, like. I’d been sick a few times before but I put it down to getting pissed too much. I guess I’ll have to apologise to Vik about bad mouthing his pies and calling him a cu…’

  ‘Can you believe it?’ Heidi interrupted.

  Heidi already had tears rolling down her cheeks. She threw her arms around Roxy and hugged her.

  ‘No, not really,’ Roxy said
with an audible sigh.

  ‘But it’s brilliant news, I’m so happy for you,’ Heidi chirped.

  ‘Aye, fucking champion,’ Roxy muttered glumly, ‘I cannot wait.’

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Pour into flour mixture

  Roxy managed to avoid further questioning about her situation by immediately taking a couple of fondant footballer cakes hostage, donning an eye mask and ear plugs and commandeering my bed. She was never one for tea and sympathy and, as her best friends, Heidi and I knew better than to press her for comment when she had that look on her face. Even if she had blossomed into a peacock over time, she was still a scrappy little bird at heart. Plus, she could deliver a vicious Chinese burn.

  ‘Well times are definitely changing. Our Roxy, the first of us to become a mam, can you imagine it?’ said Heidi as she snuggled under a duvet on the sofa.

  I looked up at the ceiling from my less-than-comfortable position on the floor and paused.

  ‘Do you know what, Heidi? I think I can. She’ll fight her kid’s battles for them that’s for sure.’

  The only question was whether Roxy could fight her own demons about parenthood, which I knew were lurking beneath her polished surface.

  ‘Remind me why I’m doing this again?’ Roxy growled as we trudged through the snow towards the village. ‘Getting up when it’s dark is fucking unnatural man. If God’s gone to all the bother of turning the big light off so we can sleep, why fight it?’

  ‘I thought you didn’t believe in God,’ I said, pulling my scarf down an inch so I could speak.

  ‘Aye well for the purposes of this story, he’s useful.’

  ‘Or perhaps now you’ve been touched by the miracle of procreation, you’ve changed your mind,’ said Heidi.

  Roxy’s tut was visible in the cold air.

  ‘Heidi man, the only thing I’ve been touched by was Thierry’s pork sword and he should have been sensible enough to keep it in its wrapper.’

  Heidi screwed up her face.

  ‘Have you thought of going into schools to teach sex education?’ I laughed. ‘The way you describe it would put most of them off.’

  We reached Front Street, which acted like a tunnel, funnelling a harsh northeasterly wind directly from the sea at its far end. We gasped in unison when the first gust slapped our faces. Heidi and I were sensibly dressed as market stall traders in jeans, jumpers, puffa jackets, boots, hats, scarves and gloves (or giant orange mittens in Heidi’s case). In fact, I was so wrapped up against the elements only my nose was visible through the layers. I waddled like Pingu, clutching Tupperware boxes of cupcakes to my chest. Roxy, on the other hand, was inappropriately dressed in deep purple, wet-look leggings designed solely for the skinny amongst us. If I had worn wet-look leggings, people would have thought I had taken two rather full bin bags for a walk. She teamed them with a fitted black Armani jacket with a fur-lined hood that just skimmed her bum cheeks, pink leather gloves, an oversized black cap and over-the-knee black leather stiletto boots. Looking every inch a fashionista, Roxy tottered along in the snow with her Louis Vuitton slung over one arm and a Tupperware box balanced on the other, which I caught her glowering at from time to time. I had no sympathy for her. Granted Tupperware did not feature heavily in Vogue, but Roxy had agreed to muck in with our fundraising efforts and nobody had advised her to wear a five thousand pound outfit to a flea market.

  ‘Should you be wearing those boots in the snow?’ I said.

  Roxy stepped gingerly over an icy patch on the pavement outside a bar where someone had seemingly deposited their stomach contents the night before. She shook her head.

  ‘Not really, it’s gonna fuck the leather up but then I did see a lush pair in Fenwicks that I might get later if these are ruined.’

  ‘I meant, should you be wearing stilettos on an icy pavement now that you’re…?’ I nodded towards her stomach.

  Roxy’s eyes followed the nod.

  ‘What, carrying cupcakes?’

  ‘No, now that you’re… you know.’

  Roxy’s eyes dipped towards her stomach twice before she cottoned on. She stopped at the edge of the kerb.

  ‘Now I’m up the duff you mean? What’s that got to do with my boots like?’

  We looked both ways before crossing the street, even though Roxy was right and most people had more sense than to be awake at this hour on a Saturday morning in late November.

  ‘In case you fall over and hurt yourself.’

  Roxy frowned at me from underneath the tilted peak of her cap.

  ‘Chloe, man, I could run a fucking marathon in heels. I was born to wear them. I’m not disabled.’

  ‘But Chloe’s right,’ said Heidi, ‘when you’re pregnant your feet swell up and heels are too uncomfortable. You’ll have to wear flats in the end.’

  Roxy stopped dead in the middle of the road.

  ‘Flats? Flat shoes? Wash your mouth out, lass. No way. I’d rather stay in the house for nine months than be seen dead in a pair of flats. In fact, I’d rather be seen dead.’ She shook her head. ‘Bloody hell girls, I’m only up the duff, I haven’t lost all sense of style.’

  She stamped her feet again and shivered.

  ‘Now can we stop talking about it and get to wherever we’re going? It’s Baltic out here like.’

  Heidi shrugged and glanced up and down Front Street. The only lights other than the fading orange glow of the streetlights were in Shirley’s bakery.

  ‘We need a float for the stall,’ she said.

  She started to trudge along the pavement towards the bakery, the fresh, untrodden snow creaking beneath her wellies. She struggled with the folded table under her arm.

  ‘What the fuck do we need a float for?’ asked Roxy, ‘it’s not a carnival.’

  I laughed and slipped my arm through hers in what appeared to be a simple gesture of friendship, but which was actually because I was feeling suddenly protective of my usually strong friend. Not that I would admit that to Roxy for fear of her smacking me around the head with her holdall and telling me to get a grip.

  ‘A cash float so that we can give change to the first customers,’ I said as we walked. ‘But if Heidi thinks Shirley will hand over her precious coins out of the kindness of her heart, she’s got another thing coming.’

  ‘Did you hear that, Janice? Queeny and her two princess friends here want me to give them free money now? Do I look like a banker to you?

  ‘Like a what?’ Roxy snorted.

  She plonked her Tupperware box on the counter and crossed her arms.

  ‘Howay man, Shirley, we’re not asking for free money, we just need change of two tens.’

  Shirley narrowed her eyes at us and peered through her electric blue mascara.

  ‘How do I know they’re not counterfeit? I know where you come from, girl, even if you’re dolled up to the nines these days like one of them celebrities.’

  Roxy bristled but didn’t take the bait.

  ‘It’s only two tens, man. If I was going to the bother of making fake notes I reckon I’d aim a bit higher than that.’

  Janice poked her hairnet up above the trays of hot sausage rolls and shook her head.

  ‘Everyone wants something these days, Shirl’. Don’t want to buy our cakes though do they?’

  Shirley crossed her arms over her ample chest in a display of defiance.

  ‘Exactly, Janice. I’ll give you girls change if you buy something. But for a tenner you have to spend a minimum of six pounds.’

  ‘Six pounds! But that defeats the object. We’ll hardly have any change left after that.’

  Shirley looked at me with an ‘I don’t give a shit’ expression.

  ‘Aye and we don’t exactly need ten iced fingers when we’ve got all these cupcakes,’ said Roxy.

  She nodded at the Tupperware container on the counter. At the word ‘cupcakes’ Shirley’s ears pricked up. Her mouth set in a grim line then slowly spread horizontally like a wire slicing through soft cheese. The elec
tric blue mascara flashed a warning, her eyelashes hitting her drooping eyelids. Janice’s hairnet rose slowly above the sausage rolls. She looked like a world war one soldier peering over the trenches.

  ‘Cupcakes,’ Shirley repeated slowly. ‘You brought cupcakes into my bakery?’

  She spat the words as if we had brought an army of rats armed with cake slices. Roxy grinned and stepped forward to open the box.

  ‘Aye, our Chloe made them, they’re ace, look.’

  Janice and Shirley edged closer and then leaned towards the box in slow motion. The lid peeled back, their eyes grew wide and Shirley’s hands flew up to her cheeks. Anyone entering the bakery at that moment would have thought a bomb had exploded in their faces. Janice gasped, Roxy laughed and Heidi gripped my arm.

  ‘Your first public reaction,’ she whispered.

  ‘It looks pretty horrendous,’ I hissed back.

  ‘Ladies, I give you Chloe Baker’s frosted cupcakes,’ Roxy announced proudly.

  Frosted cupcakes, Janice mouthed silently.

  ‘You didn’t make these,’ Shirley growled.

  I nodded.

  ‘Aye she did,’ Heidi announced proudly, ‘isn’t she fabulous?’

  Janice looked up at Shirley.

  ‘They are fabulous,’ she squeaked.

  Shirley flashed her eyes at Janice who, I imagined, would later be made to stand up against the wall and shot with a splurge gun for her treachery. However, no matter how hard Shirley protested, I had seen the jealousy flash across her face. I wriggled my cold toes happily inside my boots. For over twenty years I had been waiting to get one over on sour-faced Shirley, who had managed to turn cake buying in Tynemouth into a battle of wits. She had thoroughly enjoyed publicly ramming a nail into the coffin of my self-esteem three weeks previously. This was admittedly a small and rather petty victory, but it acted as a parachute in the recent freefall of my confidence. This was my moment.