Wish Upon a Christmas Cake

by Darcie Boleyn

  After the funeral service, Granny had been carried back to the car and taken to the crematorium. She had always insisted that she wanted to be cremated, hating the idea of lying cold in the ground. She had kept my Granddad’s ashes all those years and asked to be scattered with him so that the winds could carry them away together. She said that she and Jim had always wanted to see the world and this would provide them with the perfect opportunity. It was beyond romantic and heartbreakingly sad. But it was what she’d wanted. We’d taken their combined ashes on a hot-air balloon flight where we’d set them free. It had been difficult to say goodbye in that way yet also liberating because we knew we were giving her what she’d wanted.

  Since Granny had died, I’d spent a lot of time wondering how it was possible that people we loved so much could be there one day and gone the next? I’d asked myself, how exactly did we go on? The only answer I could come up with was because we had to; it was human nature to persevere and to continue to exist in spite of everything life threw at us. It was our duty as a race.

  Another thought ricocheted through me then. Granny had been right about not wasting time and living life. Who knew how long any of us had? If there was a chance that something could develop with Sam, that we could build a life together, then I should seize that opportunity, shouldn’t I?

  Chapter 15

  A week later, I rolled over in bed and blinked. What time was it? More importantly, where was I?

  I reached for my mobile and squinted at the screen. Four in the morning. Nearly time to get up.

  Awareness seeped in.

  No. It was Sunday. Day off.

  Whew!

  So what had woken me?

  I sat up and rubbed my eyes. Probably shouldn’t have had that bottle of wine last night but I’d been exhausted after work and in need of something to bring me down from the cake high. I knew that stuffing my face with cakes was not going to ease my confusion about Sam, or make me feel better, or help me to forget Granny, but still…

  I heard the noise again. I hoped we weren’t being broken into. There was a lot of valuable equipment downstairs in the shop kitchen and there had been some burglaries in the area recently. Fury sparked within me. I loathed reading about burglaries and the cowards who broke into people’s homes and businesses and took what wasn’t theirs. How bloody dare they? If there was someone breaking in downstairs then he or she had better sodding well look out!

  I pushed the duvet away and swung my legs over the edge of the bed. I had my most comfortable pyjamas on and I was glad of them. Fleecy pink top and bottoms with a teddy bear print. I’d had them for about eight years. They just washed and tumbled dried so well and the constant wear meant that the waistband was nice and loose.

  I slipped my feet into my fluffy bunny head slippers, then opened my door slowly. It opened directly into the open-plan lounge-kitchen-diner of the small flat that Ann and I shared. The street lamp outside bathed the room in a hazy yellow glow so I could make my way across the room to the door without too much trouble. I tip-toed carefully, realising that I must look like some ridiculous cartoon character with my exaggerated movements. At the door, I took a deep breath and released the lock quietly.

  My heart thundered against my ribs. What if it was a burglar? Or more than one? If I went downstairs they might attack me and tie me up and subject me to a horrendous assault. They might laugh at my slippers and my bed hair and…Whoa! Slow down, you idiot. It’s probably nothing. Maybe a cat that sneaked in when the door was open today. I hoped not because it would mean that we’d have to do a thorough disinfecting which would take up most of Sunday. Even worse, it could be rats. I shuddered as images of long tails and twitching noses appeared before me. Really, I should wake Ann and ask her to come with me. But she’d been so exhausted lately and she wasn’t sleeping at all well. I didn’t want to disturb whatever respite she managed to get from her pain.

  So man up, Katie Warham, and go forth into battle. Protect what’s yours, even if it is from a tiny furry rodent that never hurt anyone. Except during the Black Death when they helped spread the plague and killed thousands.

  More shuddering. Right. Best go down before I created a full-blown apocalyptic James Herbert style scenario with giant rats that set out to destroy mankind.

  I gently opened the door and stepped into the hallway. It led to a flight of steps and a small ground-floor corridor where we could access the shop and the kitchen. It was how Ann and I went in and out of the shop, although there was also a fire door just off the kitchen and obviously the shop door out the front that the customers used.

  I padded to the top of the stairs then softly descended. The shop was alarmed and Ann was usually pretty good at doing it but she’d been so distracted of late that I suspected that she’d forgotten to turn it on last night.

  Suddenly, something clattered in the kitchen and I froze. My heart was beating so hard I had spots in front of my eyes. That would be a bloody big rat! From out of nowhere, a surge of the anger I’d experienced upstairs filled me. How dare someone break in here? Into the shop that Ann and I had so lovingly filled with our baking, our money and our enthusiasm. No way was I going to let some creep destroy what we’d striven to build. I glanced around the hallway for a weapon and my gaze fell on Ann’s large umbrella. It was her favourite one, pale green with tiny pink and yellow cupcakes printed on it. When we went out in the rain we both fitted easily under it as long as we huddled together.

  Armed with the brolly, I felt better, and the fury burning in my belly really helped.

  I reached for the handle and pushed open the door which led into the kitchen. As it swung wide, I could see that the fridge was open and make out a dark shape hunched on the floor in front of it. What the…

  I raised my weapon and let out a war cry that would have made Mel Gibson wince. The shape turned as I ran towards it and made to get up but I swung my weapon with all my might whilst letting forth the most awful noises. I sounded frightening to myself. Deranged even. But, hey, these were exceptional circumstances. Time after time, I rained blows onto the burglar.

  ‘How…dare…you…break in here…you…bloody…cheeky…thieving…’

  ‘Stlopsh!’

  I smashed the brolly down again. ‘Scum like you deserve to be put…in…jail!’

  ‘Stlop! Pleashes, Katie, stlop!’

  I froze. The burglar knew my name. And he sounded familiar. If a bit drunk.

  I backed up to the wall, still brandishing Ann’s umbrella in front of me in case the figure decided to lunge at me, then pressed the light switch.

  And cringed.

  ‘Mark, what on earth are you doing here? I thought we were being burgled. You scared me to death.’

  ‘I sclared yoush?’ His face was bright red and his lip was already swelling where I’d caught him with a blow. ‘You’re a tough bird…scharey.’ He stared at me with a mixture of admiration and drunken lack of focus.

  ‘Yeah, well, don’t you forget it.’ I wagged a finger at him, suddenly recalling how he’d broken Ann’s heart. ‘Anyway, why are you here and how did you get in?’

  ‘Ann gave shme a skey.’ He held up a silver key attached to a small cake key ring.

  ‘Well you should have given it back.’

  ‘Shlorry.’ He hung his head and I noticed the cake in his sticky hands and all over his jeans. ‘I jusht…I mish her. Sho mucsh.’ He started crying then, which I really hadn’t expected. Big, fat tears rolled off his chin and dropped onto the fruitcake which he was now squishing between his fingers like a naughty toddler.

  Oh boy!

  ‘Go and wash your hands and I’ll put the kettle on.’ What else could I do? I’d given the poor man a sound beating but it seemed like he was giving himself a much harder time than I ever would. I’d hear him out, then see if I could help. After all, if he was missing Ann half as much as she was missing him then it would make sense to try to find a way forward for them. ‘But you just remember that you owe Ann a new umbre
lla.’ And a new heart!

  Upstairs in the flat, I directed Mark to the couch then filled the kettle and switched it on. The man was totally inebriated and even though I was annoyed with him because of how he’d hurt Ann and relieved that we hadn’t been burgled, I couldn’t help but smile at how funny he was without his usual polished veneer of up-and-coming city banker. City wanker more like, hurting Ann like that.

  Before coming upstairs, I’d cleaned up the cake that he’d managed to get all over the floor in front of the fridge and made him wash his hands in the industrial-sized sink, although he was too uncoordinated to use the nail brush properly and I could still see chunks of fruit under his nails. I shrugged. At least he’d have something for breakfast.

  I filled the cafetiere with Brazilian coffee and breathed deeply of their delicious fruity aroma. Coffee always smelt so good. I added an extra tablespoon for good measure – Mark would need it – then I poured the boiling water in. I took two mugs from the cupboard above the kettle and got the milk from the fridge. Since Granny had died, I found everyday activities like this remarkable. Things I had done for years without thinking about them, suddenly seemed beyond comprehension, because even though she was dead and I would never see her again, I still kept on doing them. However, in spite of this, I also found them comforting. Routine and familiarity were not to be knocked. It kept me going even in the bleakest moments. Granny had done these things at some point, probably every day – although tea had been her drink of choice – and people would continue to do these things long after I had gone too. It was life. It went on and on. Sam’s gorgeous face popped into my head and I ran a hand down his stubbly cheek before planting a kiss on his lips. I missed him. Ridiculous as that sounded, I did. I wondered what he was doing right then but, seeing as how it was only four-thirty on a Sunday morning, I guessed he’d probably be tucked up in bed asleep. Hopefully alone.

  What right did I have to hope that he slept alone? None. Absolutely none. He wasn’t mine.

  But I want him to be.

  Easier said than done.

  Anyway, back to Mark.

  I placed our mugs on a tray and filled them with steaming coffee. I knew that if I drank mine, I’d no hope of going back to sleep, but if I could help Ann out and make things better for her, then it was a small price to pay.

  Back in the lounge, Mark was slouched on the sofa staring at his reflection in the blank TV screen. It reminded me of the day I’d returned home after Christmas and Ann had done exactly the same thing. I placed the tray on the coffee table and turned on one of the small side lamps. Ann and I had painted the room in a neutral cream but accessorised with purple and red. It made the room warm and cheerful, even in the glow of just one power-saving bulb. I took the chair which was at a right angle to the sofa and cradled my coffee mug in my hands.

  ‘Right, Mark. You want to tell me what’s going on?’

  He reached for his coffee but knocked the mug and some of it sloshed over his fingers.

  ‘Ish hot.’ He frowned at the tray.

  ‘But it will do you good,’ I said. ‘Drink up.’

  He nodded and raised his coffee to his lips. He sipped it tentatively and sighed with each swallow. ‘Thank you. Ish kind of yoush.’

  ‘Where did you go last night to get so drunk?’ I ran my finger around the rim of my mug.

  ‘Out…wisth work. Then clubbing.’ He bounced as a hiccup hit him and I bit my lip. Poor man, he was in such a state.

  ‘Went for drinksh and food then my collaeguesh shaid we should go to shtrip club.’

  ‘Oh?’ I raised my eyebrows, not certain that I wanted to hear all about that part of the evening.

  ‘In the club…wash good.’ He shook his head. ‘But…oh…’ He rubbed a fist into his eyes. ‘Whatever I do…however I try…I jusht can’t get her out of my head. Titsh…big titsh…hipsh…shaved pushies…asshes…’

  ‘Pushies and ashes?’ I frowned.

  ‘Fanshies and bumsh. Big bumsh…titsh…’

  ‘Okay, I get the picture.’ I waved my hand at him, not wanting him to go through the list of the female anatomy again. Especially not the shaved pushies or the fanshies. Laughter bubbled in my belly. It shouldn’t be funny; it was, in fact, quite tragic that he was even telling me this stuff, but sometimes when things are just so awful that they are hard to accept, I find I want to laugh. ‘Anyway, you were saying that you couldn’t get Ann out of your head?’

  ‘Yesh!’ He jabbed a finger at me. ‘I can’t.’ He shook his head and his bottom lip wobbled. He reminded me of a little boy about to cry. Again.

  ‘So you came here?’

  ‘Yesh. I need to shee her.’ He went to stand up but lost his balance and stumbled back into his seat sloshing coffee over his lap.

  ‘You’re going to need to wash those jeans,’ I said, thinking that he’d have to boil them to get the coffee and the brandy-soaked Christmas cake out of them.

  ‘Yesh.’ He placed his empty mug on the table then got up and promptly removed his dark denims. I averted my gaze and sipped my coffee.

  ‘I didn’t mean now, Mark.’

  ‘Burnt my legsh.’ He threw his jeans aside then slumped back onto the sofa with his knees spread. I held up a hand as I looked back in his direction, positioning it over his groin so that I couldn’t see anything offensive.

  ‘I’ll get you a wet towel.’ I returned to the kitchen area and soaked a clean tea towel in cold water, then handed it to him. He placed it over his thighs and sighed with relief.

  ‘Thanksh, Katie. You’re the besht.’

  ‘Yeah. Right. So…you went clubbing then decided that no one compared to Ann so you came here and used your key. Why now?’

  ‘I misshed her sho much. Shince Christmas hash been sho bad. New Year shucked.’

  ‘Didn’t it just,’ I whispered, remembering my own loneliness and how it had been overshadowed by my thoughts of Sam and my longing to be with him. But Ann had needed me and, besides, he’d gone to stay with Maria’s family. I’d thought it was probably for the best as New Year’s Eve can be a bit emotional anyway. And Jack and Holly needed to spend time with their maternal grandparents. They always would. Another issue that any future stepmother would have to understand.

  ‘So why did you go in the fridge downstairs, Mark?’

  ‘Wash hungry.’

  ‘Okay.’

  ‘Love your cakesh. You and Ann are the besht.’

  ‘Thanks.’ I stared at his cloudy eyes and my stomach lurched. Behind the alcoholic haze was pain. Dark and life-changing. He did actually love her. ‘So if you don’t mind me asking, Mark, why didn’t you propose to Ann? She was hoping…expecting you to.’ Anger flickered at the edges of my awareness as I recalled the times Ann had sobbed in my arms since I’d returned to the flat. It was so sad that human beings could do that to one another, could cause each other so much pain. Ann really loved this guy but there was no way I was letting him near her again unless he proved how much he loved her too. He had one chance.

  ‘I meshed up, Katie. I know. I jusht panicked. I thought I didn’t need her but I do. There’sh no one like her. No one in the whole wide world.’ He glanced in the direction of her bedroom door and I noticed that it was open a crack. Ann always closed her door properly, fearing that wayward spiders might access her room in the dead of night. Had she heard the commotion? Was she listening now? I hoped so and I pressed forwards.

  ‘Tell me more, Mark.’

  ‘She ish beautiful, funny, talented. She makesh my heart beat harder when I shee her shmile and I just…I just love her.’ His voice cracked.

  ‘Enough to marry her?’ Ooh I was being hard now but he’d better be honest. Last-chance saloon, Mark.

  He stared at me then down at his hands and he turned them over.

  ‘Mark!’ My voice was sharp even to my own ears.

  ‘Yesh.’ He nodded vigorously. ‘Yesh. I want to be with her and I want her to be my wife. I don’t know why I didn’t think I was read
y. I wash a fool.’ He pursed his lips as he said the last word, as if it was hurting him to fully realise it.

  ‘You’re not going to try to string her along again…I mean…even if she did by some remarkable chance decide to have you back in her life. Which she might not. You hurt her badly, Mark. You know that?’

  ‘Yesh, Katie, I know. I do want her as my wife. A shummer wedding. Would she like that?’

  ‘Don’t get carried away yet,’ I warned. ‘But yes, I think she’d like a summer wedding. August. Perhaps somewhere warm. Mauritius maybe or Italy…that beautiful castle in Malcesine on Lake Garda.’ I smiled as I named my own dream wedding destination. Now who was getting carried away? Would Sam like Lake Garda? It was one of the most beautiful places I’d ever been. A few years earlier I’d gone there on a recipe trail and spent a few sun-soaked days around the lake and the tiny cobbled streets. I’d seen a wedding party coming out of the castle grounds; the bride in a full white dress and veil, the groom in his tails. They’d been so happy, so carefree, so complete. You could only have that if you were truly in love.

  ‘Shounds good,’ Mark agreed. ‘Ann ish like your special Christmash cake.’ He grinned as he spoke. ‘She’s fruity and deep and spicy and addictive as alcohol.’

  My nose tingled as he spoke; what a comparison! ‘Well that’s good to hear, Mark. But you have to be certain before I let you near her.’ What was I, a bodyguard?

  ‘I know. I am.’ He pushed his hair back from his clammy forehead.

  ‘Because the old saying is right.’

  ‘Shaying?’ His brows knitted together above his nose.

  ‘You can’t have your Christmas cake and eat it.’

  ‘Oh I want it. For ever. I promish!’ He jumped up and Ann’s bedroom door swung open. She ran into the living room and flung herself at him, which resulted in Mark falling backwards onto the couch.

  As Ann covered Mark’s face with kisses, she whispered, ‘I’ve heard enough. I love you too. But if you ever cause me a moment’s doubt again, you big idiot, then you’ll be out the door in an instant. You hear me?’