When Only Cupcakes Will Do

by Daisy James

  What a perfect day for a birthday celebration, Lucie thought, as she drank in the natural beauty that her previous, time-starved life had obliterated. Buttercups and daisies rippled on the lawns, bees and butterflies danced around the foxgloves and purple lupins swaying in the gardens. They were only a few miles away from the city, but it was a different world to the noisy, brash hustle of the capital where the streets seemed to be displayed in black and white, not the glorious Technicolor that was on show in Richmond.

  She smiled as she tipped the sun visor, appreciating the sunshine on her face. She felt lighter here too, with no city grime clinging to her clothes and her skin, and a warm glow of gratefulness spread through her.

  ‘I know I’ve already said this, Jess, but I really appreciate your support. Setting up the Travelling Cupcake Company has given me a new challenge to concentrate on. It came at just the right time to divert my focus away from my crumbling self-esteem. If there is one thing I know I can do well it’s bake a cake.’

  ‘You don’t have to thank me, Lucie. What you have to do is dish the gossip on your day out with the smoulderingly handsome guy who got you the sack from Francesca’s! Oh, look, isn’t that his Alfa Romeo parked outside Rosa’s?’

  Lucie rolled her eyes at her sister but couldn’t resist a quick glimpse at the driveway of Rosa and Paolo’s house on the outskirts of Richmond, which they just happened to be passing on their way to St John’s church hall. She was relieved to escape the potential grilling when, a few minutes later, they arrived at the party venue just before the guests were due to land.

  With practised synchronicity, they set up the room for a party of twelve. They covered the table with a white paper table cloth that the girls could decorate, and laid a place for each guest with an apron, a chef’s hat, five cake pops protruding from a mini colander and a selection of bowls containing an assortment of coloured candy melts and the various toppings. They were ready with five minutes to spare to grab a coffee before the horde descended.

  ‘We’re getting better at setting up the stage, don’t you think?’ asked Lucie.

  ‘It looks amazing!’ Jess smiled, aiming her iPhone to take a photo.

  Lucie patted her pocket for her own phone but then shrugged. She hadn’t ventured back into the cyber world much since the #LividLucie debacle and she hadn’t missed it as much as she’d expected. In fact, she now understood why it had been so easy. Instead of the virtual connectivity her Facebook account offered, she’d gained actual connections and stronger bonds with her family and friends by speaking on the phone to Hollie and Steph most nights instead of texting them. She knew which she preferred.

  A tickle of pleasure ran through her chest when she thought of the conversation she’d had with Hollie the previous week. Well, not a conversation – more of a monologue as Hollie regaled her with every minute detail of her weekend away at the spa and the blossoming of her relationship with Elliott. There was a lot to be said for getting away from the daily routine and indulging in something completely different. Maybe if she and Alex had spent more time together on leisure pursuits…

  ‘Hi, Lucie. Hi, Jess. Wow, this all looks fabulous. I love the bunting. Oh, and the cake! Maddy will be over the moon. Maddy, Maddy come and see your Travelling Cupcake Company birthday cake, darling.’

  The shriek told Lucie everything she needed to know and she laughed, grateful to banish the unexpected appearance of Alex from her thoughts. ‘Thanks, Anne, I’m glad you like it.’

  After that there was no time for dalliances with the past as the party guests dashed into the hall and began designing their own take on the cake pops. There was a variety of talent on display, but in the end, whatever the level of skill exhibited, they would all taste the same. While the songs from Frozen swirled around on a continuous loop in the background, Lucie circled the table to offer assistance to those who needed it, but Maddy’s party was a much more sedate affair with ten-year-olds than Gabriella’s party had been. In fact, some of the creations were excellent, particularly a bright-yellow duck Maddy had painstakingly adorned with an orange beak, Tweetie Pie eyes and a red ribbon round its neck.

  While the cakes were left to set, Anne organised a ‘dance off’ and then a photoshoot outside of all the girls standing in front of the vintage pink-and-cream ice-cream van for her Facebook page. The girls wanted their own photos taken too, and the melodic chime of ‘Greensleeves’ was repeated several times with the birthday girl claiming the honour of pressing the silver button.

  ‘It’s been a wonderful day, thank you,’ said Anne as she carried the remaining half of her daughter’s chocolate birthday cake to her car. ‘My sister was asking if you’d go out as far as Oxford? She’s a member of the WI over there and wonders if you’ll give a demonstration to the ladies one evening?’

  ‘Oh, I’d love to. It sounds like fun, although I’m a little nervous about talking to a room full of such culinary experts.’ Lucie handed Anne her card.

  ‘Are you sure you don’t mind tidying up by yourself, Lucie?’ Jess glanced around the hall, which looked like a battalion of marauding Vikings had been on the rampage. She peered out of the front door at the sky, which had switched from electric blue to a menacing hue of pewter.

  ‘It’s fine. Go and enjoy the rest of your child-free day with Kate and the other mums. I’ll sort out the babysitter when I get back home. Have fun!’

  ‘Thanks, Lucie. You are the best sister anyone could have,’ declared Jess, depositing a kiss on Lucie’s cheek. ‘See you later.’

  Lucie folded the table, washed and packed up the utensils and the remaining cake pops and carried them out to the van before returning to the hall and her least favourite task. After an hour’s scrubbing there was no evidence there had been a birthday party held in the room.

  As she turned the key in the lock, the storm arrived and fired down raindrops onto the path in front of her like stair rods. Lucie sprinted across to the vicarage to drop off the key and returned to the van, her hair plastered on her cheeks and the back of her cotton sweater glued to her skin.

  ‘Ergh!’

  She wiped her face with a tea towel before starting the engine. God, I could murder a coffee, she thought. She slotted the gearstick into first and threaded her way through the cars parked on both sides, struggling to steer the cumbersome vehicle down the narrow streets, which were now inundated with rivulets of water to add to the challenge. Never mind, she cajoled herself, I’ll be home in twenty minutes.

  Famous last words.

  Chapter Twenty

  Lucie drew up at a T-junction, the van’s windscreen wipers working overtime. She waited for the tourists in the car in front to scrutinise the white-painted signpost for their preferred destination before tootling off to the right, and put the van in gear to take the left turn towards Richmond. But it refused to budge. She scrapped the gearbox again and the engine cut out. When she turned the key in the ignition the only response was an indignant cough followed by a whimper. With a sinking feeling in her stomach and goosebumps prickling at her forearms, she switched on the hazard lights and slumped back against her seat.

  What was she going to do? She couldn’t call Jess. She didn’t want to spoil her afternoon and, anyway, what could she do? Jess wasn’t a mechanic. But then neither was she. She had thought about getting breakdown cover but, in a departure from her usual caution, had decided against the expense until the business was in profit.

  She looked out of the window, but the rivulets of rain masked her view of the street beyond. She grasped the key again and turned it in the ignition, sending up a prayer to her guardian angel to return to duty. As the engine refused to start, she noticed with a splice of embarrassment that the petrol gauge screamed the answer to her predicament.

  Oh, for God’s sake! she mumbled. How could she have been so disorganised? What had happened to the Lucie who planned for every eventuality? She had no idea where the nearest garage was and she didn’t even own a petrol can. And it wasn’t just ra
ining – the director of this meteorological drama had demanded a monsoon backdrop.

  Lucie sighed. She was already drenched so what difference would it make? She just wished she was wearing more appropriate footwear for the dash to the petrol station and she rued the decision to wear her favourite sparkly sandals for the party. With a final glance at the bruised sky, she slid from the driver’s seat and into the spring downpour. In a matter of seconds, she was soaked to her underwear and, as she raised her speed to an all-out sprint, she could feel the chafing of her white Capri pants on the insides of her thighs. Every time an oncoming car approached, while most drivers slowed down, occasionally there was an idiot who relished the chance to spray her with a cascade of water.

  She calculated she must have been about halfway to the petrol station when she decided that, while it was one thing to be an independent woman in charge of her own destiny with no need of a knight-in-shining-armour in the wings to soothe life’s passage, it was another not to reach out for help when she so clearly needed it. It was Sunday afternoon and more likely than not that Ed would be finishing lunch with Rosa and Paolo. Dare she call him and ask for his help?

  She continued jogging as best she could in her stiletto sandals and gestured for the driver lurking behind her to overtake, but he didn’t. She heard the engine rev so she stopped, stepped onto the grass verge, placed her hands on her knees and waited for the vehicle to pass. The driver shot past, sending an arc of water over her head. She could hear the accompanying jeering for what seemed like an age after the Porsche Boxter had turned the corner. A bout of trembling overtook her and her teeth clacked. She’d had enough. She retrieved her phone and dialled Ed’s number. He answered it on the first ring.

  ‘Lucie!’

  ‘Please tell me you happen to be having lunch at Rosa and Paolo’s?’

  ‘Why? Do you want to join us? I have to break it to you that we have eaten every morsel of the delicious lasagne my sister is famous for.’

  ‘Can I ask you… could you… Agh, will you meet me at the petrol station on North Road?’

  ‘Erm, not the best offer I’ve had this week, but okay.’

  ‘Thanks.’ She swiped the call end button before he could ask any more questions and increased her speed in the direction of the garage. She had just glimpsed the forecourt at the end of the road when Ed arrived in his silver Alfa Romeo. She had never seen a more welcome sight in her life.

  ‘Why are you out jogging in the rain?’

  ‘I’m not jogging!’ She flicked her dripping fringe from her eyes and glared at him, aware of how ridiculous she must look. Her shoes squelched with every step she took and her legs were splattered with mud all the way up to her bottom.

  ‘What are you doing, then?’ asked Ed.

  ‘Scouting for a picnic site. What does it look like?’ An irrational surge of anger attacked her senses, but then she felt guilty. After all, it was hardly his fault it was raining or that the van had run out of petrol.

  ‘Jump in.’

  ‘Thanks.’

  She opened the passenger door and sank gratefully into the leather seat, rubbing her hands together in an effort to control the attack of shivering that had descended over her body. Goosebumps rippled up her forearms and she dragged the rain-laden cotton of her top from her chest.

  ‘Here.’ Ed whipped the tartan blanket from the back seat and settled it around her shoulders with a smile. ‘Do you want to tell me why you decided to train for the marathon in the rain?’

  ‘We’ve just done a Travelling Cupcake Company birthday party for one of Jess’s friend’s daughters and the van broke down on the way home. I, erm… well, it seems I ran out of petrol.’

  ‘Ah, Lucie, it could only happen to you,’ Ed chuckled.

  ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

  Ed stared at her and decided to change tack.

  ‘Okay, come on. Let’s sort this out.’

  With their backs arched to the heavens they sprinted towards the garage shop. Lucie waited, huddled beneath the canopy, her arms wrapped around her abdomen as she tried in vain to control a sudden bout of extreme trembling that invaded her body. She was freezing and globules of water were running down her back and the insides of her thighs. Not a pleasant feeling.

  Ed emerged from the shop with a red petrol can, took one look at her and looped his arm around her waist, drawing her into his chest. She fit perfectly against his muscular abdomen and the warmth of his body calmed her stuttering. The tang of his lemony aftershave sent tingles of pleasure down through her veins and her shivering vanished. She glanced up into his eyes, the colour of liquid chocolate and her heart pogoed its delight at his proximity. How could she have doubted the veracity of her feelings for him.

  He looked effortlessly polished, dressed in a lilac cashmere sweater and black dress pants – a little too smart for a Sunday afternoon at his sister’s house. Had he perhaps been on his way to a date when he answered her plea for help? The unexpected intensity of her reaction to that possibility surprised her.

  Ed drove them swiftly to where she’d abandoned the van, filled up the tank and handed her the empty can.

  ‘My gift to you! Think you can manage to keep it replenished for the next time?’ He slid into the driver’s seat and turned the key. The engine started straightaway. He pointed to the dial on the dashboard. ‘Know what this is for?’

  ‘Very funny.’

  Lucie rolled her eyes at him but she was so wet and miserable that she had no energy left to voice her opinions on women’s emancipation. When she gathered the courage to turn her head towards him she saw he was smirking, but he had every right to be. She smiled at him and they both simultaneously burst into laughter. It felt wonderful to relieve the tension that had been mounting.

  ‘Got anything to eat in this overblown candy floss on wheels? Fighting the elements really builds up an appetite.’

  ‘I can offer you a fish, a crab or a whale?’

  ‘A whale?’

  Lucie climbed into the back of the van and grabbed a plastic box with the remaining cake pops that hadn’t been sold. She peeled back the lid and offered him one. Ed wrinkled his nose and selected one of Jess’s nautical-themed delicacies.

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘It’s a crab. This is the whale…’ She held up a cellophane-wrapped cake pop in a shape more akin to a shark with its teeth bared. ‘And this is a goldfish.’

  ‘With a sailor’s hat on?’

  ‘Why not?’

  Ed shook his head but hunger won over objection. He unwrapped the goldfish and bit off the hat. Lucie had never seen a more incongruous sight than the famously cool Ed Cartolli, food critic extraordinaire, lounging in the driver’s seat of a vintage ice-cream van eating a fish made from cake from the end of a stick. His curls flopped against his eyelashes as he ran his tongue along his lips to collect any stray crumbs.

  She wished she had her phone. She would have been sorely tempted to end her abstinence from Twitter.

  ‘Delizioso! Come on, I’ll drive you home. There’s never a dull moment when you’re around, Lucie Bradshaw, is there? Being with you is like adding another extreme sport to my list! I wouldn’t say no to an espresso as someone interrupted my last one.’

  ‘No date tonight, then?’ she asked, injecting as much nonchalance into the question as she could. Her heart hammered against her ribcage as she waited for his answer.

  ‘I’ve not had much time to date since I arrived in London.’ The amusement in his eyes caused Lucie to blush, but now that she’d grasped her courage she intended to roll with it.

  ‘What about before you left Sicily?’ Ah, that had hit a nerve.

  ‘Marisa and I agreed to go our separate ways. She was focused on pursuing her career. She had little time to spend nursing my emotional turmoil after the accident. I accept I was difficult to live with. I really threw myself into my extreme sports addiction, trying to prove to myself that I could still do everything that I did before the accident
. Giorgio and I even climbed Kilimanjaro for charity! Taking it in turns to carry a Sicilian flag! Then we cycled from Rome to Nice, camping wherever we wanted, foraging for our food. It was an amazing, Boy’s Own adventure. Marisa had hoped our brush with death would convince us to cut down on the adrenalin-junkie behaviour, but instead we craved it even more. Well, who can blame her for ending our relationship when I told her I was leaving for a few months in the UK? I think she was relieved when I went. We’ve stayed in touch. In fact, she’s recently announced her engagement to a fellow architect in her practice.’

  Ed hesitated as he tried to decide whether to jump in with his next sentence. ‘I know you had your own proposal of marriage turned down.’ Now it was her turn to take her place under the relationship spotlight.

  ‘I haven’t spoken to Alex since that night. He still hasn’t explained his reasons for rejecting me but he did send me a text asking if I was okay after my brush with fame as an internet sensation which Steph and Hollie ordered me to ignore. Alex is a lawyer at a law firm in London,’ she added, as if that was an excuse for his lack of empathy with her desire to understand what she had done wrong.

  ‘You mean he’s never told you why he turned down your proposal of marriage?’

  ‘Yes. I mean, no.’

  Talking about Alex to Ed felt uncomfortable. The look of disbelief on his face brought home to her that she and Alex still had unfinished business. Did she still love him? Maybe. Whenever his face danced across her eyelids in the moments between wakefulness and the oblivion sleep offered, her heart would warn her that she was not over him. She had to try calling him again or, as a last resort, ask Steph to intervene. She would never be able to move on with her life until she understood why he didn’t want to marry her. The least he could do was have the decency to free her from her torment. Sometimes a judicious word of explanation could be more welcome than a carefully crafted text. She knew that once she had the facts, no matter how hurtful, there was a possibility she could work on dissecting her emotions, tying up that episode of her life in a big red ribbon and starting over again.