Snow Angels, Secrets and Christmas Cake

by Sue Watson

  * * *

  Things were going well and mine and Tamsin’s working relationship seemed to be good for business. We’d increased a couple of big orders as Tamsin had used her charm on the manager of a local hotel and convinced a tea rooms and a grocers to use our bread and cakes.

  ‘We’ve had another big order,’ I said to her one morning as she teetered down the stairs in Jimmy Choos and a Vivienne Westwood suit with black and yellow stripes. I read the email order form – ‘The lovely lady in the designer dress’ apparently seduced someone into ordering all their Christmas cakes from us. Go Tamsin. I reckon you’ve really got a talent for selling.’

  ‘Fabulous! I just feel so alive. It’s amazing to discover in your forties that you are good at something.’

  Gabe came in at that point, shaking snow off his boots and beaming at her.

  ‘Do I look okay?’ she asked, giving us a twirl.

  ‘Yeah... you look hot, but do you have to wear those stupid shoes?’ Gabe sighed. ‘Yesterday she got her heel stuck in the bloody snow and nearly broke her ankle,’ he said to me, rolling his eyes. She giggled and I caught a look between them. I loved the way he teased her making her go all girlish.

  ‘These “stupid shoes” cost a fortune, poor little Jimmy Choo slaved in his cobbler’s studio stitching these by hand,’ she said in mock reprimand to Gabe.

  ‘Well, if you change your mind there’s some of my wellies behind the door,’ I smiled and continued to work as Gabe loaded the van and Tamsin teetered around him like a high-heeled wasp.

  Eventually Gabe started up the van and Tamsin was just getting in her side, which was a high climb for someone in heels and a tight skirt, when we heard the rip.

  ‘Christ it’s torn,’ she shouted, and I gather Gabe was laughing because she was now admonishing him and telling him how much it cost while half in and half out of the van.

  ‘Calm down, Tam,’ I said, helping her out.

  ‘Look, go back upstairs take the beautiful suit off and in my second drawer down you’ll find my jeans and jumpers. They aren’t designer, but they are far more suitable for deliveries and it doesn’t matter if they get ruined in the snow.’ She wasn’t happy and stomped off in quite a tizzy.

  ‘She’s a bit pissed off,’ I called to Gabe, who just laughed and lit up a fag.

  ‘She’ll get over it,’ he smiled.

  I went back into the shop and thought about how the two of them were together; he didn’t pander to her and even when she tried to boss him around, he let her think she was in charge, but really he just let it go and she forgot. He had her back and she knew it. Minutes later Tamsin appeared on the stairs in my jeans, looking ten years younger without the fuss of designer clothes and grown-up heels.

  ‘You look great – so different,’ I said.

  ‘Yeah... this little jumper’s not bad is it? Whose is it?’

  ‘Mine.’

  ‘No... I mean which designer?’

  I rolled my eyes; ‘You know I don’t wear designer clothes.’

  ‘I know, I just hoped against hope I’d come across a gem in your pile of chain store cast-offs,’ she smiled.

  ‘Cheeky bugger – now get those stupid shoes off and put these wellies on and get to work,’ I said.

  She struggled with the wellies. I could tell she was biting her tongue, but then abandoned them on the floor.

  ‘I’m sorry – I can’t they are awful – so unflattering, they do nothing for my leg length.’ With that, she teetered out into the snow in my old jeans, cheap jumper and Jimmy Choos. One step at a time I reminded myself as I stood on the doorstep holding the wellies like her mother and when Gabe worked out what was happening he got out of the truck and walked round to the passenger side. He calmly took the boots off me, and opening the truck passenger door, grabbed one of Tamsin’s legs and while she wriggled and giggled he slowly but firmly took off one Jimmy Choo. For a split second my heart was in my mouth as he held the shoe in his hand and then threw it over his shoulder into the deep snow. Tamsin screamed like she was in pain and tried to struggle as he pinned her down and took the other shoe. By now he was laughing as she lashed out at him, and by the time the second Jimmy Choo flew through the air I was waiting for the Tamsin explosion. I held my breath in horror as Gabe picked up a wellington and despite her struggling and screaming he put the first one gently onto her foot, then took the other one and did the same. Then I realised, she was only pretending to fight him off – and to my relief and amazement – she was giggling.

  They eventually set off and as I watched them go I thought about how much my sister had changed and how she was literally shedding her old life – and stepping into a new one.

  20

  William, Kate and a Right Royal Christmas

  Tamsin

  I had been so busy with deliveries and fending off Gabe all morning I was exhausted. It seemed Sam’s cheap old jumper and jeans were far more alluring to him than my gorgeous designer suits. I always knew the man had no taste – and after wrestling me to put awful supermarket wellingtons on my feet, he couldn’t keep away. I have to say it was fun fighting Gabe off – little did he know I enjoyed it as much as he did, and whilst I definitely wanted it to go all the way – there was a time and a place.

  Returning to the bakery, I waved Gabe off and went inside. I was instantly soothed by warm gingerbread hovering in the air, infusing the place in rich, treacly fragrance. It was also very calm and lovely - a couple of women were enjoying coffee and mince pies at a table and Sam was behind the counter putting out freshly baked rum truffles in Christmassy boxes. The perfect Christmas scene, I thought as I picked up one of the boxes.

  ‘They need a red ribbon,’ I said, playing around with a box, a little Christmas wrapping and some ribbon lying on the side.

  ‘Wow, that looks lovely,’ Sam said, and asked me to do some more. I enjoyed doing this, and as we put them on the counter, the two ladies at the table made approving noises. I saw this as my chance to leap in and prove to myself I could make something of being a saleswoman.

  ‘Good morning ladies... soo Christmassy with the snow and everything, isn’t it? I just wanted to show you these new boxes of truffles we are presenting for Christmas.’

  ‘Lovely,’ they both said in unison. They licked their lips, they were so damn desperate to have them.

  ‘Maracaibo, or Porcelana cocoa is grown on small plantations in Venezuela. I’m sure you’re familiar with the Amedei chocolatier in Tuscany?’

  They both nodded. They weren’t.

  ‘Well, the same bean used in these truffles is used to make their Amedei Porcelana – said to be the most expensive in the world.’

  In my former life I’d attended a gourmet pudding weekend – of course we didn’t eat a thing it was all too fattening – but fascinating nonetheless. At the end we’d had a fun chocolate quiz, but I’d revised hard and won (I always like to win) and still remembered random chocolate facts – who knew they’d be so useful?

  ‘My sister is not just a pâtissier, she is also a master chocolatier, the chocolate is full-flavoured, takes on the rounded marble of truffle, yet is yielding in texture. She adds the finest French cognac flown directly from Paris and the result, ladies, as you can see, is sublime... exquisite.’

  They were looking at me like two children being read a story – they were hooked, they wanted more.

  ‘Kate and William have ordered several boxes to gift the family this Christmas,’ I added, watching their eyes widen. Then, finally, when I had their full attention, I gave them the price. ‘They are £5 a box for six truffles... a snip, I think you’ll agree.’

  Manicured nails clawed at the beautiful boxes, smoky eyes darted everywhere, while Chanel-glossed lips panted with the wanting. I knew the Kate and William line would get them agitated.

  ‘My husband asked me to buy small gifts for his business associates – I’ve left it late this year – I could get them all a box of these truffles?’ the blonde said, breathlessly
, imagining how fabulous these truffles would make her look to her husband.

  ‘What a great idea,’ I smiled. ‘So how many can we make for you?’ I asked.

  ‘Can I order one hundred please?’

  I was a little taken aback. ‘Boxes?’

  ‘Please... I’ll need them the day after tomorrow, is that possible?’

  I nodded, but didn’t meet her eyes, knowing Sam would go mad. That was six-hundred truffles in two days. I was better at this selling business than I’d thought – and Sam couldn’t grumble we needed the money.

  ‘Oh you know what?’ The redhead started, not wanting to be outdone. ‘They are so gorgeous I’m going to give them to our clients – and friends too. Make my order one hundred and fifty,’ she gave a sidelong look at the blonde that said ‘gotcha girlfriend.’ I knew how these women ticked and they were in the palm of my hand.

  At this point Sam appeared at my shoulder like a rather negative little monkey.

  ‘I’m sorry but...’ she began.

  ‘Sam, please. Let me handle this,’ I said, gently putting my hand on her arm.

  ‘But Tamsin, there’s no way I can make that many...’

  ‘It’s fine,’ I said over her, smiling reassuringly at the ladies who lunched. ‘My sister is a little concerned, she’s been told by a certain “family who will be spending Christmas in Sandringham” that on no account must she recreate the same chocolates for anyone else. It’s all about exclusivity in those circles, but I won’t tell if you don’t.’

  The women were now virtually fighting each other to be the first to get their credit cards swiped while I smiled benignly and took their cards in turn.

  Once they’d left, their orders safely made, I looked at Sam. ‘So... I have just taken a total of £1,250.’ I held my hand up for what Hugo always called a five high or something, but Sam just looked at me stony faced.

  ‘If I remember rightly... the phrase is “please don’t leave me hanging around here”,’ I said, my hand still in the air.

  She ignored this. ‘Tamsin – I know you want this business to succeed as much as I do, but you have just taken money under false pretences. That chocolate isn’t used in Tuscany, nor is it from Venezuela, it’s from the bloody cash and carry. And Prince William and Kate? Hello, they haven’t been anywhere near the shop, let alone ordered truffles.’

  ‘Who said anything about Prince William? I just said William and Kate had called, and I’m sure, in the year that you’ve been open, people by those names have bought cakes.’

  ‘That would hardly stand up in a court of law,’ she sighed.

  ‘Look Sam, those women were label queens. They would buy my used tissues if I told them they were designed by Alexander McQueen and Lady Gaga had wiped her armpits with them. Remember I once paid 200 quid for a sweaty T-shirt signed by Madonna... I had the bloody thing framed until we found out it was a money-making scam from the boys at Hugo’s school. God only knows whose teenage sweat I’d had expertly mounted in that gilt-edged box frame.’ I shuddered at the thought. ‘What you have to remember is, those women don’t care about the chocolate... they’ll never eat it, nor will their friends. They just want it in their lives to make them look good.’

  ‘It’s dishonest, Tamsin, I’m not comfortable with it.’

  ‘Oh Sam, lighten up,’ I said, hearing myself and never imagining in my life it would be me saying this to her. ‘It’s called selling. I seem to have a knack for it... I just put a few of my old designer dresses on eBay to make a few pennies and sold them within the hour for six hundred quid – all because I said they were, “believed to have been owned by Monégasque Royalty”.’

  Sam frowned.

  ‘Oh I didn’t say who, but of course everyone is thinking Stephanie of Monaco.’

  ‘But it’s a lie.’

  ‘Prove it.’

  ‘I don’t have fucking time – I have to go to Venezuela via Tuscany to get the chocolate for the 5 million bloody truffles you just agreed to make,’ she yelled.

  ‘Well get on with it then,’ I shouted back.’ And stop bloody swearing.’

  She was genuinely cross, but it was all quite good-natured. I quite enjoyed the yelling and the arguing with Sam, it reminded me of when we were younger and she’d borrowed my best top or used my mascara. It wasn’t serious but it helped us get stuff off our chests. I hadn’t been able to get anything off my chest for a long time. I poked my tongue out at her, made an online order for 400 truffle boxes and felt a frisson of excitement for the first time in years.

  21

  Christmas Cupcakes and Sumatra Wahana

  Sam

  So Tamsin had taken the biggest single order ever and I was quite frankly panicking. I really had no idea how we were going to meet it, but I knew we had to. We decided to work late into the evening and make a good start, but by midnight I was exhausted. We’d barely made a dent and I also had an oven full of cakes to take out for the morning. Tamsin seemed to have found her second wind and had gone from very low to very high, and urged on by her selling success that day was now making future plans.

  ‘Anyway Sam... now all our van worries are over, I’ve been thinking.’

  ‘Oh,’ I said, leaning on the oven for support. I had never been so tired – I wondered if I was coming down with something. I’d only just got over a bad dose of flu and all the stress was probably bringing it on again... Mrs J had said bad things would come to us in threes. First it was Tamsin, then the van, next it would be me, ill in bed and unable to bake.

  ‘Next weekend is the last weekend before Christmas,’ Tamsin was saying from behind a huge bag of flour. ‘Why don’t we stage a Christmas cupcake event?’

  I wished she’d be quiet. I was glad she was taking an interest but as always she was ambitious and getting ahead of herself. ‘I don’t...know. It would be such a lot of work and I...’ my head was throbbing. My shoulders and neck ached with exhaustion and I felt like I might fall over if I stayed up another minute. The very idea of taking on even more work horrified me.

  ‘We will make it irresistible...’ She went on and on and I couldn’t actually hear words any more. She was clutching at her forehead channelling Martha Stewart and I’d really had enough for one day.

  Only my sister could use the word ‘stage’ as a verb when talking about a little bakery selling cakes. ‘Tamsin, we can’t...’

  ‘Stop with the negativity, Sam... I don’t want to hear the word “can’t”. We can get the bakery looking fabulous and Christmassy. We’ll do a big community event...’ She gave me a ‘don’t interrupt me’ glare, so I didn’t, I just carried on mixing sugar icing and pretended she wasn’t there.

  ‘And don’t go on about having no money – I get it. Christ, do I get it, darling! I’m quite aware of how desperate things are – I’ve been drinking bloody Nescafé for two days, my freshly ground Sumatra Wahana is but a distant memory floating on a Sumatran coffee breeze.’

  ‘Yes, and at that price it will have to stay a distant memory.’

  ‘Oh stop being so bloody boring about money,’ she snapped. I had to smile wearily at that because Tamsin had always gone on about money... How things had changed in such a short time.

  ‘Are you okay, love,’ I heard her say when she’d eventually stopped yapping.

  ‘Yes... no actually, I don’t feel great.’

  ‘Why don’t you go to bed?’ she said, putting on her apron. ‘I can wait for the final batch to come out of the oven.’

  I was grateful and desperate to lie in a darkened room, but made mild protesting noises.

  ‘Go on... I’ll watch the cakes. And I’ll make some notes about our Christmas Cupcake Event too,’ she added, as if it was something we’d just agreed on. She wasn’t letting it drop, she was like a dog with a bone our Tamsin, but I was relieved to see the old sparkle coming back into her eyes as she donned her apron and picked up her notebook. I couldn’t believe the change in our Tamsin, If you told me a month ago my sister would be living in m
y 2-bed flat and working as a delivery driver cum sales rep cum baking assistant in my little bakery - I would have said you were mad. But now it seemed completely natural.

  I wandered upstairs and as soon as my head hit the pillow I was out until much later when I was woken by a smell... I lay there for a few seconds trying to work out what it was. Then I realised with a start. My heart lurched, and I sat up, trying to gather my faculties – it was smoke. I leaped out of bed and ran into Jacob’s room where he was sleeping soundly. I took a deep breath, gathered him in my arms, checked his breathing and carried him into the living room. I realised now the smoke was coming from downstairs and though it may have been stupid to walk towards a fire, I had no choice, we couldn’t stay upstairs there was no way out up there we had to go down. So with Jacob sleepy in my arms, I ran through the smoke now billowing through the bakery, curling and growing by the second. I ran out into the square relieved to taste the chilled air, breathing in deep lungfuls and hugging Jacob.

  Then I realised. ‘Tamsin... where’s Tamsin?’ I said out loud. I had to go back in, so threw my mobile to Jacob, told him to stay exactly where he was and not follow me inside, but to press 999 on the phone.

  ‘Tell the person at the other end the White Angel Bakery in Cheshire Square is on fire,’ I yelled and forced my way back in to find my sister.

  I pushed through the smoke, now much thicker than it had been only seconds before, and felt something soft at my feet. ‘Oh no... Tamsin?’ I fell to the ground, desperately scrabbling along the floor, unable to see anything... then I felt it, Tamsin’s cashmere shawl lying on the floor. I was tearful now, fearing the worst, she could have inhaled smoke and might be unconscious. She could be anywhere in there, my eyes were stinging with the smoke. I could barely see but thought there was something red under the counter, was it one of Tamsin’s shoes? I lunged towards it, hoping to pull her out, but when I finally grabbed at it, she wasn’t attached. I tore around quickly, desperately trying to make out what was in front of me while calling her name. Was that her lying on the floor in a heap? I staggered towards the shape I could just make out through the smoke, but it was just a pile of boxes. Then I saw her leaning against the wall, but that was the fridge, my mind was playing tricks and all I could shout was ‘Tamsin... Tamsin.’