by Fiona Gibson
Having finished his drink, Pascal gets up from his seat. ‘Same again? Another glass of wine?’
I look up at him, figuring that I could stay for another, and that it might help me to shake off the waves of irritation which are coming thick and fast. We might even have a fun evening. But, I realise, I want more than that. Now, more than anything, I want to be with the man who has lifted my heart, and who I can’t get out of my mind.
‘I think I might call it a night actually,’ I say firmly.
‘You don’t want to find somewhere for dinner?’
‘No thanks.’
He looks mildly nonplussed, then kisses my cheeks again, simultaneously checking his watch. ‘Well, I’m going to stay for a while. Some friends of mine usually come here on a Saturday night.’
‘Enjoy the rest of your evening then,’ I say, mustering a broad smile. ‘And I’m glad you enjoyed the meringues.’
‘The bitter orange,’ he calls after me as I make my way to the door, ‘is sensational.’
Out in the street, I wonder what to do next. The sensible thing would be to head home, and start baking – although I suspect that Logan and Fergus are having an enjoyable boys’ night in, and appreciating some time on their own. They’ve grown closer lately, spending more time hanging out together, with Logan no longer regarding his younger brother with disdain – at least, not all of the time. Besides, I don’t really want to go home quite yet. Still smarting a little over Pascal’s comments about Viv, I pull out my phone from my bag. It’s Logan who picks up.
‘Everything okay?’ I ask.
‘Yeah,’ he says. There’s muffled sniggering in the background.
‘Are you sure?’
‘Yes, Mum.’ His voice shakes with mirth.
‘So what are you laughing at? What are you up to?’
‘Nothing. Blake’s here. Is that all right?’
‘Of course it is,’ I say firmly, ‘as long as there’s no baking going on …’
‘Mum says no baking,’ he guffaws, and there’s an explosion of laughter in the background.
‘Logan, you’re not, are you?’
‘No,’ he says emphatically. ‘Hang on a minute.’ I wait, hearing the background voices recede as he takes the phone to another room. ‘Mum … d’you remember that … that thing on Fergus’s laptop?’
‘In graphic detail,’ I say dryly.
‘It was Blake who told Fergus to do it. He said, “Google hot chicks” and that’s what came up …’
‘God, did he?’
‘Uh-huh.’
‘Hot chicks?’ I repeat.
‘Yeah, that’s why it had a ciggie in it, ’cause she was hot …’ He starts laughing again. ‘And he’s telling him to do it again, right? But we won’t let him …’
‘He’d better not, okay? Turn the laptop off.’
‘It is off,’ he protests. ‘Honestly – d’you think he’d do that again, after what happened last time?’
I pause, sensing that I really should head home to see what’s going on. Will I ever manage to have a proper grown-up life of my own?
‘Logan,’ I say firmly, ‘I was calling to say I’ll be out for a little while longer. Until ten or so – not too late. But now I feel completely uncomfortable with the idea of leaving you boys alone in the flat. I thought I could trust you …’
‘You can,’ he declares. ‘I promise, Mum. You were brilliant about the party thing. Still can’t believe how Clemmie reacted …’
‘Okay,’ I say, a little taken aback by his outburst.
‘You can trust us,’ he repeats emphatically.
‘Well, I hope so.’ I smile, thinking what a gang we are, the three of us – we don’t manage too badly, considering. I hear our door buzzer in the background, some high-pitched yapping and then a woman’s voice. ‘Who’s that?’ I ask.
‘Clemmie’s just arrived,’ he hisses. ‘She says she’s just popped in to drop off some magazines for you but now she’s here, she might as well stay for a bit.’
My mouth quivers with mirth. ‘She’s babysitting you, Logan. She’s making sure you don’t get up to any mischief.’
‘For God’s sake,’ he exclaims. ‘We’re sixteen! We could get married, join the army—’
‘Buy a lottery ticket,’ I add. ‘Never mind, darling. Say hi for me and tell her I won’t be out too late.’
We finish the call, faint drizzle starting to fall as I head away from the pub. Edinburgh is bustling tonight. There are smart couples, gaggles of students and the odd hen and stag party group. The streets are filled with wafts of perfume and laughter. Still clutching my phone, I call another number.
‘Stephen? Hi, it’s Alice.’
‘Oh, I was hoping you’d call.’ He sounds genuinely pleased.
‘Um …’ I bite my lip, waiting until a particularly boisterous group of boys has meandered by. ‘I’m just up the road from you. I know it’s Saturday night and you’re probably busy—’
‘Actually,’ he says, ‘I’ve got eight friends round for dinner and I’m just about to dish up dessert …’
‘Oh, I’m sorry—’
‘Alice,’ Stephen says laughing. ‘Of course I’m not doing anything. Or, rather, I am, but it’s not absolutely crucial that I sort out Molly’s sock pile right now.’
I smile at that. ‘You’re pairing up socks?’
‘Yes, you know how Molly is.’
‘Very precise.’
‘Yep.’ He chuckles. ‘She’s still talking about that cake, by the way. You saved my life at the party, truly.’
‘Well, Mum stole the show,’ I say with a laugh.
‘Your mum’s great too.’
‘She thinks you’re fantastic,’ I add, teasing him now and yearning to add, And so do I.
‘It comes to something,’ he goes on, ‘when you realise you mainly appeal to the over-sixties.’
‘Oh, not just them.’ There – I’ve said it. For the second time tonight, I blush.
There’s a pause, and then he says, ‘So, if you’re coming over I’ll just go and pop a bottle of wine in the fridge.’
‘Sounds like an excellent idea.’ I walk to Stephen’s, only just managing to stop myself from breaking into a trot. That would be undignified, right? I replay Pascal’s words, and his scathing appraisal of Viv’s ‘behaviour’, realising that, yet again, I have allowed a small detail to completely put me off a man. Is that so bad, though? Surely these little things tell us a lot? My heart is in my mouth as I arrive at Stephen’s, and I knock softly on the door so as not to wake Molly.
‘Hey.’ He opens the door and beckons me in. ‘This is such a lovely surprise.’
‘I really hope I’m not disturbing you …’
‘Not at all.’ He grins, indicating the pile of balled-up socks on the sofa. ‘Like I said, I was having a scintillating night in. Molly’s at her mother’s tonight and it’s good, you know …’ He tails off. ‘I mean, it’s good to have a night off being Dad. But then I find myself thinking, So what shall I do now?’
I look at him and smile. ‘I know that feeling so well. Time off is pretty overrated.’
‘Anyway, let me get you a drink …’ Stephen doesn’t head for the fridge, though. In fact, he doesn’t go anywhere at all. He just stands there, looking at me, as if wanting to say something else, but is unsure of how to put it.
‘I don’t think I want one, actually,’ I murmur.
A flicker of a smile. ‘Me neither.’ What happens next makes my entire body tingle. He takes my hand, then gently touches the side of my face. Then we’re kissing, and I’m not worried about anything – not the boys, or whether I have an overbite or should be on a Tuc biscuit diet – because it feels wonderful.
We pull apart, and the way he looks at me makes my head spin. Then wordlessly, he takes my hand and we go upstairs. I’m not worried or nervous, despite this not having happened for a very long time, because I know it’ll be lovely.
In his bedroom, he kisses me again. As w
e part, I notice the empty space beside his wardrobe.
‘Stephen, the trouser press has gone,’ I say with a smile.
‘Oh, you saw that?’ He laughs.
‘Yes, during hide-and-seek at the party.’
He flushes slightly. ‘It has gone, thank Christ. Managed to palm it off on a friend’s dad.’
‘Er … why?’
He smiles. ‘What kind of person uses one outside a Holiday Inn? This is a little embarrassing, but my mother is convinced I’d get my life together if only my trousers were a little less rumpled.’ He looks down. ‘Actually, she reckons I’m a scruffy sod. So she bought it for my fortieth …’
‘Wow. Was it gift-wrapped?’
‘Not quite.’ He pushes back his light-brown hair, green eyes twinkling with amusement. ‘She lives in Germany – ordered it from there. It’s actually a German model. You know what they call them?’
‘No …’
‘A Hosenbugler.’ We both burst out laughing.
‘I can’t believe your mum thinks you don’t have your life together,’ I add.
‘I can’t believe yours thinks you have an overbite,’ he adds with a smile. ‘She might be incredibly bright, but she’s absolutely a hundred per cent wrong about that.’
I laugh again, lost for words.
‘In fact, you’re perfect, Alice,’ he says. Then I’m in his arms again in this cool, calm room. My friends often say I overcomplicate things, and I realise now that simple is often best. Take egg white and sugar, fluffed up with tons of air, which turns into something magical. Then I’m forgetting all about meringues because we are kissing, sending my head into a delicious spin, and nothing could be lovelier than that.
Chapter Thirty-Five
Seven months later: Inspection day
‘Why’s that woman coming again?’ Fergus asks, helping me to lug bags of shopping home. With two weeks to go until Christmas, Logan and Fergus’s school has been damaged by a recent storm, resulting in several bonus days off.
‘She’s inspecting our kitchen,’ I reply.
‘But didn’t she do that last year?’
‘Yes,’ I tell him, ‘that was before I could start trading. And she’s coming back to make sure standards haven’t slipped.’
‘So you’re not gonna banish us to our rooms this time?’ he sniggers.
‘I didn’t banish you, Fergus.’
‘You did! You said we weren’t to come out. You were ashamed of us,’ he adds gravely.
‘That was because you were ill,’ I remind him. ‘I didn’t want you breathing germs, infecting everything—’
‘Oh, Mum, look at that.’ He’s pointing at Pascal’s Christmas window with its display of cellophane-wrapped nougat in the window – dozens of packets piled up in a giant cone, festooned with sequins and curls of silvery ribbon. Strings of twinkling fairy lights have been hung up outside, and the blackboard reads, Come in for a delicious cinnamon hot chocolate, which Clemmie has become especially partial to. They stock my meringues, too – although the bitter orange variety turned out to be a little odd for most people’s tastes. Pascal, who remains cordial, although a little distant, says pistachio and dark chocolate always fly off the shelves.
‘That looks gorgeous,’ I agree. ‘He always has such great window displays.’
‘D’you think you could start making nougat?’ he asks.
I raise a brow. ‘Are you saying you’re getting tired of meringues?’
Fergus shrugs as we walk on. ‘Um … a bit.’
‘Hard lines, love. D’you know they paid for our summer holiday this year? Without them, we wouldn’t have gone anywhere.’
‘Oh, I know, Mum.’ He grins, affecting a mock-patronising tone. ‘You work very hard and I’m proud of you.’ We continue in this teasing, good-natured vein, pausing outside the charity shop. ‘Mum, look.’ Fergus nudges me, indicating a rather dishevelled nativity scene in the window. It is a cast of soft toys – sheep, donkeys, dogs and, inexplicably, a parrot, all clustered around a knitted Mary, Joseph and baby Jesus tucked up in a little wicker basket.
‘Sweet,’ I say distractedly. ‘C’mon, let’s go – the inspector’s due at half-four and I want to give the place another quick check.’
‘Look properly,’ he insists, jabbing a finger towards the glass. ‘Doesn’t that look like Rex?’
I follow his gaze and frown at the slightly grubby synthetic white dog. ‘Yes, it really does.’
‘Can’t be, though, can it? ’Cause you got Rex back …’
‘Er, yes,’ I reply with a nervous laugh.
He turns to me. ‘Shall we buy him for Ingrid’s baby?’
‘Babies,’ I remind him. ‘There are two, don’t forget, and she still has a few weeks to go yet—’
‘We could get a couple of toys then.’
I smile, wondering how to put it diplomatically. ‘You know how precise Ingrid is about everything? To be honest, I’m not sure she’d approve of charity shop toys.’
‘Yeah, you’re probably right. You know, Mum, I can’t believe I made such a fuss about Rex.’ He rolls his eyes and grins. ‘I was so immature.’
‘Well,’ I remark as we make our way down the hill towards our street, ‘these things matter a lot, I guess.’ I glance at my boy, the smattering of freckles across his nose fading now, his wavy hair worn longer and shaggier these days, curling down the back of his neck. Logan, too, has grown even taller. He has size eleven feet, and a pretty serious girlfriend – still Kayla, I’m delighted to see. He never mentions Tom’s barn and, as far as I can gather, it has yet to be turned into a luxury self-contained home.
Back at the flat, Fergus retires to his room, and Kayla soon shows up, still in her school uniform. She and Logan amble into the kitchen for snacks. ‘D’you want us to go out when the inspector comes?’ he asks.
‘No, you’re fine. I think I’m just about ready for her anyway.’ I smile, glimpsing Kayla wiping away crumbs once bagels have been toasted.
‘Are you baking today, Alice?’ she asks hopefully, her slender frame at odds with her fiercely sweet tooth.
‘That’s my plan, unless Erica decides the place is a health hazard and shuts me down.’
She laughs, leaning against the worktop as she sips her tea. I like Kayla a lot. She is extremely bright, having beaten Logan on the exam results front, although only just.
‘When’s she coming?’ she asks.
‘In about twenty minutes.’
‘Good luck.’ She grins, and follows Logan through to the living room while I check everything again, obsessively: fridge, oven, sinks and floor. At four-thirty on the dot Erica arrives, wearing a navy jersey dress which drapes artfully over her considerable bump.
‘Congratulations,’ I say.
‘Thanks.’ She smiles. ‘Have to say it’s been slightly different this time. It’s a boy …’
‘Oh,’ I say, recalling her horror at the thought of raising young males.
‘It’s been brilliant actually,’ she adds, pulling out her clipboard from her smart leather briefcase. ‘No nausea, no exhaustion – nothing. It’s been a breeze so far.’ She opens the oven and peers in, then closes it and gives the fridge a perfunctory check. Not quite so thorough this time, I notice.
‘You’re lucky,’ I say.
‘God, yes.’ She smiles warmly. ‘To be honest, we had a little scare early on and we weren’t sure this baby would make it.’ I’m startled as her eyes fill with tears.
‘Are you okay?’ I exclaim. ‘Sit down, can I get you something?’
Erica shakes her head, inhaling deeply as she gathers herself. ‘I’m sorry. It’s just my age, you know – I’m forty-three, and it hit me that this would probably be our last chance and …’ She breaks off and musters a grin. ‘I’m just delighted everything’s okay, really. I’d wanted a girl at first, you know. But then, after all that worry, it suddenly seemed incredibly churlish to be remotely fussy about the baby’s sex.’ She resumes businesslike mode, checking se
veral boxes on her form. Kayla appears, asking if it’s okay to grab a satsuma from the bowl on the table, before scampering off again. ‘I thought you had two boys,’ Erica remarks.
‘Yes, that’s right – Kayla is my eldest son’s girlfriend.’
‘Ah.’ She grins, slipping her clipboard into her briefcase in readiness for leaving. ‘I’ve got all that to look forward to. So, I assume Sugar Mummy’s going well? I can’t imagine how you keep on top of it all …’
‘It’s busy,’ I say, ‘but the boys help a lot, and I guess I’m more efficient these days.’
‘Would you ever give up your day job and do this full time?’
‘No,’ I say firmly, ‘I still love my job at school.’
‘Don’t blame you,’ Erica says with a laugh. ‘I mean, who wants to sweat over a hot oven all day long?’
So, my premises have passed, Erica’s visit having been concluded in a brisk twenty-five minutes. It’s a crisp, cold day, and I’m due to meet Stephen and Molly in Princes Street Gardens where he’s taking her to the Christmas funfair after school. I pull on a sweater over my top, then a jacket, scarf and gloves, and say goodbye to the three teenagers who are installed in the living room.
‘You’ll remember to heat up that chilli for dinner, won’t you, Logan?’ I prompt him.
‘Yeah, Mum.’
‘Heat it properly, all the way through.’
‘Yes.’ He looks at Kayla and they both laugh. Then he turns back to me. ‘You worry too much, Mum.’ I smile, leaving them to it and thinking, I don’t really, not any more. In fact, as I speed-walk into town, I feel as light as a perfect meringue.
The smile is still playing on my lips as I spot him among the crowds at the fairground, my lovely boyfriend with his little girl, waiting for me by the carousel. His face lights up as he sees me. I quicken my pace, throwing my arms around him as he pulls me close and kisses my lips.
‘Coming on the big wheel with me, Alice?’ Molly asks with a grin.
‘I might just do that,’ I reply. The three of us make our way towards it, and Stephen takes my gloved hand in his, making my heart soar as the first flakes of snow start to fall.