The Cake Walk
A few minutes later, Madeleine was rushing through the foyer again, this time on her way out of the building. It must have rained heavily in the past hour, the pavement was wet and the awnings were dripping, but fortunately it had stopped for the moment. She stepped off the kerb to hail a taxi and landed ankle deep in a puddle. If there was a God, he was really messing with her today – not that she didn’t deserve it.
When she managed to get a taxi she realised she didn’t know the exact address, so she just told the driver to head towards Glebe while she looked it up on her phone. She wouldn’t have remembered that much if Genevieve hadn’t mentioned Glebe earlier. Cake tasting wasn’t really up there on Madeleine’s list of priorities, even before today, and she had kept postponing the appointment, much to her sister’s chagrin. At least Madeleine had given plenty of notice on the other occasions, so she did understand the chagrin today. But she wasn’t going to be able to explain to Gen why, this time, perhaps it was forgiveable.
When she found the address she relayed it to the driver, and then rested her head back against the seat. The irony of trotting off to choose between highly overpriced, overwrought cakes for a wedding that wasn’t even going ahead was not lost on her. Perhaps she should consider it penance. And if she did enough penance, she wondered, could Henry be spared?
The taxi pulled up outside the Cake Walk, and Madeleine paid the fare and stepped out, watching where she placed her feet this time. But she was still squelching as she walked into the bakery. The sickly smell of sugar hit her immediately. And the decor was pretty sugary as well, all lolly pink. A long glass counter stretched before her, displaying rows of what could only be called cake sculptures. Most of them looked like they couldn’t possibly be edible. There were cakes that resembled cars, and trains, and various animals, even insects – a vivid red ladybird and a pretty mauve butterfly. There was a cake made to look like a handbag, and another that looked like a fancy wrapped gift. Weirder still were a selection of cakes made to look like other food: a bar of chocolate, a hamburger, even a giant cupcake – a novelty cake of a cake.
The wedding cakes were set apart in their own glass cabinet at the glamour end of the showroom. There were no cartoonish creations here: it was all pomp and grandeur, cakes that were taking themselves a little too seriously. Gazing into the glass case, Madeleine remembered how little she had cared about this, and yet now she would give anything to be choosing a cake for real, a cake that she and Henry would stand behind while photos were taken, clasping their hands together around the handle of the knife, making a wish . . .
A young woman in a pink smock appeared from a doorway behind the counter. ‘Can I help you?’
Madeleine snapped out of her daydream. ‘Yes, hello . . . I’m here for a cake tasting. I’m meeting my mother and sister, I believe they’re already here.’
The woman smiled. ‘Of course, I’ll show you through.’ She led Madeleine through the door behind the counter into a small well-lit room where Genevieve and Margaret were sitting at a white-clothed table.
‘Finally,’ Genevieve declared.
‘Hello, darling,’ Margaret said brightly. She looked relieved and Madeleine felt bad; she must have had to just sit there while Genevieve stewed and foamed at the mouth. Madeleine stooped to give her a kiss.
‘My God, Madeleine, what kind of get-up is that?’ said Genevieve, looking her up and down.
The tailored black jacket was an odd match for the blue sundress, as Liv had warned. Liv was also taller than Madeleine, so it was about a size too big. Madeleine pushed up the sleeves as she came around to give her sister a kiss.
Genevieve offered her cheek. ‘Are you wearing one of Henry’s suit coats?’
Did Genevieve think Henry was a woman’s size twelve? ‘I had to borrow it from my boss, I was a bit underdressed for the weather.’
‘And your shoes are all wet,’ Genevieve frowned. ‘What did you do, walk here?’
‘I stepped into a puddle getting into the taxi.’
‘Oh no, darling,’ said her mother. ‘Are you all right? You look a bit tired.’
Madeleine took a seat at the table. It was already dotted with delicate little plates displaying delicate little samples of cake. ‘I’m all right, Mum, it’s just been a difficult morning at work.’
‘So what was the big drama that kept you from getting here on time?’ Genevieve asked.
‘Just work stuff,’ Madeleine said offhandedly. ‘It’s not very interesting.’
‘Interesting enough to make you more than half an hour late,’ said Genevieve. ‘Anyway, we had to get started without you, we couldn’t hold them up forever.’
There was a plate in Madeleine’s place, and several cake forks laid out for their use. The cake samples were all labelled with elaborate place cards, including lists of ingredients.
‘Mum and I have been trying some, taking notes,’ said Genevieve. ‘We like the almond cake layered with mocha ganache, and also the citrus with strawberry coulis, don’t we, Mum?’
Margaret nodded obligingly.
‘Henry’s allergic to strawberries,’ said Madeleine.
Genevieve narrowed her eyes. ‘How allergic?’
‘Allergic enough.’ Madeleine stared at her sister in horror.
‘Will Henry get to try the cakes?’ Margaret asked.
That caused an involuntary spasm in Madeleine’s heart. ‘He’s happy to leave it up to me,’ she said. ‘Actually, Henry likes the traditional fruitcake. So do I, to be honest.’
‘Me too,’ said Margaret.
But Genevieve was rolling her eyes. ‘You cannot serve dreary, old fruitcake in this day and age. People expect something more upmarket.’
Madeleine felt like saying that people who were getting a free meal really had no right to be ‘expecting’ anything. She knew her friends weren’t like that. But what did it matter? This was all make-believe anyway; she felt like an actor in a surrealist play. She stuck her fork into the sample labelled RED VELVET and scooped up a portion.
A man in chef’s garb suddenly appeared through the doorway. ‘Ah, the bride has arrived,’ he said, sweeping over towards her. ‘Madeleine, I presume? Allow me to introduce myself. I’m Trevor, your pastry chef.’
At any other time, Madeleine might have been amused by the incongruity of a pastry chef being called Trevor. It was something she would have relayed to Henry over dinner tonight, and they would have had a chuckle.
She rested her loaded fork on the plate, and shook the hand Trevor extended. ‘I’m so sorry I was late.’
‘Not at all.’ He waved her apology aside. ‘We understand, brides are very busy people. Now, can I offer you a cup of tea? We prefer not to serve coffee for the cake tasting, it can overpower the flavours. But you do need something to cleanse the palate between tastes.’
‘Black tea will be fine,’ she said.
‘Perfect!’ he said. ‘English Breakfast, or something else? We have a full range, herbal as well.’
‘English Breakfast will be lovely, thank you.’
He gave a slight, oddly deferential bow and swept back out of the room.
Madeleine picked up her fork again and took a mouthful of the cake. It didn’t taste like she expected. She wasn’t sure what she’d expected a ruby-red cake to taste like, but if she closed her eyes, it might as well have been a rather mild chocolate cake.
‘What do you think?’ said Genevieve.
‘It’s okay . . .’ Madeleine swallowed it down. ‘Maybe a little bland?’
‘I thought so too,’ nodded Margaret.
‘You didn’t say that earlier,’ said Genevieve.
Margaret looked nonplussed.
‘I think it must get quite difficult to differentiate after you’ve tasted a few,’ Madeleine said, with a reassuring glance at her mother.
‘Then you have to focus,’ Genevieve said firmly, like the schoolteacher she should have been. ‘The thing is, red velvet is a statement cake – j
ust look at it. If you have it with some white chocolate ganache, I think you’ll find that will liven it up.’
Madeleine’s tea was served, and she set about sampling the samples, even though she felt sick in the stomach. She was finding it hard to differentiate, or to focus, as Genevieve conducted a running commentary, waxing lyrical about the various properties of your basic muds, and exploring the pros and cons of butter cream versus fondant icing versus ganache. It was all so unimportant in the scheme of things. Madeleine couldn’t help thinking that if she hadn’t wanted this wedding in the first place, everything would still be okay. They could have had a simple ceremony at the registry office, no need for a wedding party, no need for a best man, and therefore no need for Aiden to come out here. And none of this would have happened.
‘Honestly, Madeleine, you could show a little more enthusiasm,’ Genevieve said, breaking into her reverie. ‘I think I care more about this than you do.’
She couldn’t argue with that.
‘She’s just tired,’ said Margaret. ‘Aren’t you, dear?’
‘I am, Mum. I had a . . . a big weekend.’
‘What did you do?’ Genevieve asked, as if she wanted proof.
Had drunken sex with the best man.
‘Actually, the girls from work threw me an impromptu bachelorette party on Friday night.’
‘Don’t you mean a hens’ party?’ said Genevieve. ‘Bachelorette is a little American.’
‘Whatever.’
‘Nice of them to invite me,’ she added.
‘What?’
‘Well, I am the matron of honour, after all.’
‘Doesn’t that mean you should’ve been the one organising it?’ Madeleine snapped.
‘And how do you expect me to do that, with three kids and an absentee husband?’
‘So how would you have managed to come out to the city on a Friday night?’ Madeleine threw back at her.
‘If I’d had some notice, I would have made the effort,’ Genevieve said airily. ‘I hardly ever get a night out.’
‘Well, I’m sorry that I didn’t think to tell my work friends when they turned Friday afternoon drinks into a “hens’ night” that they should have been running it by my sister first!’ Madeleine’s voice was raised and her eyes were glassy with tears. Her mother and Genevieve were staring at her. ‘Sorry,’ she said.
But instead of the retort she was expecting, Genevieve put her hand over her sister’s. ‘Hey, Mad, what’s the matter?’
‘She’s just tired,’ Margaret said again, rubbing her other arm.
‘I don’t think this is just tiredness,’ said Genevieve, actually looking concerned.
Madeleine suddenly had a flashback of the big sister who used to look out for her. Who used to lie on her stomach on the bed opposite hers, in the room they shared as girls, chattering away till all hours – until their dad had to come in and have a stern word with them. Of course, being the eldest, and with far more interesting stories to tell, Genevieve did most of the talking. But Madeleine always knew she could tell her anything . . . That was a long time ago.
She cleared her throat. ‘I’m . . . I’m afraid everything’s not going to work out.’
Genevieve released a loud sigh of relief. ‘You’re just having cold feet, Mad.’
Madeleine was getting heartily sick of that expression.
‘It’s completely normal, so close to the wedding,’ Genevieve went on. ‘You shouldn’t let it get to you. If ever there was a couple who had nothing to worry about . . .’
Madeleine wouldn’t have expected that sentiment from Gen, and she was touched. ‘Did you have cold feet before your wedding?’ she asked.
‘Not really,’ said Genevieve. ‘But I’ve got them now,’ she added with a jaundiced laugh.
‘I had cold feet,’ said Margaret.
They both looked at her. ‘You did?’ said Madeleine. ‘With Dad?’
‘Oh yes, terribly cold feet,’ she said. ‘But your father was so good to me. Honestly, my feet were like blocks of ice sometimes in the winter, and he always let me curl them around his in bed, until they warmed up.’ She had a faraway look in her eyes, and a dreamy smile on her face. ‘Does Henry let you warm your feet up against his, Maddie?’ she asked.
Tears crept into Madeleine’s eyes. ‘Yes, Mum, he does.’
‘Then he’s going to make a wonderful husband.’
Amblin Press
When Madeleine got back to the office it was even quieter than before. She couldn’t see a soul on the entire floor, until Liv got her attention, waving from her office.
Madeleine walked over to the door. ‘Where is everyone?’ she asked.
‘Gone to lunch,’ said Liv, munching on a salad from a takeaway container on the desk in front of her.
Of course. Madeleine had totally lost track of the time; it had been a very strange day.
‘Come in,’ said Liv. ‘Pull up a pew.’
Madeleine did so. ‘Have you heard from Nat?’
Liv shook her head. ‘Don’t mention her while I’m eating, it’ll give me indigestion.’ She scooped up some leafy greens onto her fork, and they all dropped off again before she could get it to her mouth. ‘Jeez, they make it hard for you to eat healthy. So how was the cake tasting?’
‘All right, I guess.’
‘Try to contain your excitement there, Mad.’
She shrugged. ‘This was Genevieve’s little project, I was just along for the ride.’
‘Well, what did you choose in the end?’
‘Umm . . . I think it was a tier of red velvet with white chocolate ganache, and a tier of coconut glazed with passionfruit and layered with white chocolate . . . No, hold on, the red velvet must have the dark chocolate ganache – I know they both didn’t have white, and you wouldn’t put dark chocolate with coconut, or would you?’ Madeleine suppressed a yawn. ‘I don’t know, I just went along with whatever Gen said.’
‘You shouldn’t let her push you around.’
‘It doesn’t bother me, not about this anyway.’
‘At least you didn’t go with cupcakes.’ Liv was shaking her head. ‘More like schmuck cakes. They’ve been done to death. I quite like the traditional fruitcake, to be honest.’
‘So do I,’ said Madeleine. ‘And so does Henry.’ And the melancholy descended again with the mention of his name.
‘Then why don’t you have fruitcake?’
‘Because Genevieve said it’s daggy.’ And because it didn’t matter. She was going to have to call and cancel the order tomorrow anyway. It was all just a big charade.
‘Phooey,’ said Liv. ‘I kind of miss getting that finger of fruitcake in the little bag – you know, the one you put under your pillow to make a wish. You couldn’t put passionfruit glazed coconut cake with chocolate ganache under your pillow – can you imagine the mess it’d make?’
As Liv prattled on, Madeleine could feel the tears pricking at the corners of her eyes. It was all too hard, she couldn’t keep this up; talking about this phantom wedding was breaking her heart. The floodgates suddenly flew open and a loud sob burst from her mouth.
‘What’s the matter?’ Liv jumped up to close the door, and pulled a chair over close to her. ‘Oh, poor Mad,’ she said, giving her shoulder a gentle rub. ‘It’s all getting a bit much, eh? You know, weddings are one of the most stressful life events you can go through. How crazy is that? If everyone didn’t bother with all the palaver and took themselves off to a registry office, they’d all be a lot happier.’
That just made Madeleine cry harder.
‘Oh, I’m sorry,’ said Liv, ‘that was insensitive. Your wedding’s going to be beautiful, I’m just being an old hard heart. You and Henry – you’re the real thing, if anyone has a right to celebrate, it’s you two.’
Wailing like a baby now.
‘Oh for godsakes, what is it?’ Liv pleaded with her. ‘You have to tell me.’
Madeleine looked up at her, wiping her eyes with her hands, until L
iv passed her a tissue. Liv was one of her closest confidantes, if not her closest confidante, after Henry. Maybe she would understand . . .
No, what was she thinking? Liv wouldn’t understand. She had been the victim of cheating; why would she have any sympathy for Madeleine? Why would anyone? But maybe that was exactly why Madeleine needed to confess to her, even if she wasn’t going to get absolution; maybe because she wasn’t going to get absolution.
She sniffed, taking a deep breath to compose herself. ‘This is in the vault, okay?’
Liv raised her eyebrows. ‘The vault is hereby sealed. Out with it.’
God, this was so hard. Madeleine swallowed. ‘Aiden and I . . . we . . .’
She watched Liv’s face – the initial confusion, then the flutter of realisation passing across her eyes and landing with a thud. ‘Maddie!’ she gasped, barely audible. ‘You didn’t.’
Madeleine just looked at her helplessly, tears filling her eyes again. ‘I’m such a bad person.’
But this time Liv didn’t rub her shoulder or try to reassure her. She sat back in her chair, pensive.
‘I’m sorry,’ said Madeleine. ‘I shouldn’t dump this on you.’
‘It’s just hard for me, you know, because of Rick.’
‘I know, I’m sorry.’
They lapsed into silence. Madeleine wondered what was going through Liv’s mind, how disgusted she was with her right now.
‘I’m just trying to understand,’ Liv said after a while. ‘Why would you do something like that? Why would you jeopardise your relationship?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘Henry’s a good man, he loves you, he adores you.’
‘I know.’
‘Then why?’
Madeleine didn’t have an answer.
‘Are you in love with Aiden?’
‘God no, it was an accident.’
‘You accidentally slept with him?’
‘No, I mean . . . it was a mistake.’
Liv blinked. ‘Fucking big one – excuse the French.’
‘You don’t have to convince me. I know how bad this is.’
The Best Man Page 34