Bittersweet

by Jacquie Underdown

  The popularity of Sugar Cakes was growing, and it warmed Amy’s heart to know that Rachel’s legacy was living on, bigger and stronger than ever.

  As long as Amy had Sugar Cakes, she held on to Rachel.

  Always swirling through Amy’s head were ideas of her own, ways she could expand the business. She’d been considering extending her line, showcasing a slice or cake each week, maybe even some macarons. It would increase takeaway orders for nearby eateries by diversifying.

  And the need for a drink station as the weather was cooling became more and more apparent. She had done some research, but, at this stage, an espresso machine was not in her budget.

  Everything was working fine as it was, she didn’t want to mess that up.

  Friday was the busiest day the shop had seen. In addition to an espresso machine, hiring an employee was also on the agenda just to help out during the peak times.

  During the after-school rush, a well-dressed woman wearing thick-rimmed glasses approached Amy at the counter.

  ‘How can I help?’ Amy asked.

  The woman smiled. ‘Hi, Amy Jenkins, is it?’

  Amy’s heart thumped. ‘Yes. Who … who are you?’

  The woman smiled again. ‘I’m Angie Wallace from the Alpine Ridge Star. I was hoping to ask you a few questions about the shop for a feature in our paper.’

  Amy shook her head hard. Fear prickled at the back of her head. Obscurity was her friend out here. Especially when she had no idea just how far and for how long Ronaldo intended to punish her. If there was a buzz created in the media about Sugar Cakes, would he set out after her again?

  ‘I understand you’re busy. I promise I won’t take long, just a few questions.’

  ‘I’m sorry. I’m not interested,’ Amy said and looked past the tall woman to the customer behind her.

  The reporter shifted to the back of the room but didn’t leave as Amy served the store filled with boys and girls in their green and white school uniforms.

  The glass was always the dirtiest after this rush because the children had a tendency to rub their sticky fingers and hands all over it as they marvelled at the colourful cakes.

  When the crowd ebbed away as closing time neared, the moment the store was clear, Angie stepped closer to the cabinets with that smile on her face. She was tall and had a domineering air.

  Amy exhaled. ‘This article will be going in the local newspaper?’

  Angie nodded.

  ‘Fine,’ said Amy, knowing this reporter was going to continue to pester her otherwise, or worse, go back and write a scathing article that would be detrimental to business. She’d had enough of those to never want one again.

  And surely Ronaldo wouldn’t ever hear about an article in a small-town newspaper. Angie smiled, held her iPhone up between them and hit record on the voice recorder app. ‘What do you think about the association between your cupcakes and their matchmaking abilities?’

  Amy didn’t need time to know the answer to that. ‘I think it’s wonderful. I feel honoured that I can help people find true love.’

  ‘And why do you think these cupcakes are so special?’ Angie asked, pushing her glasses back onto the bridge of her nose.

  Amy smiled. ‘My best friend, who started this business, was a true romantic and renowned for her own matchmaking abilities. I think her spirit still lives on in this place, even though she’s no longer here.’

  ‘Thank you, Amy. That should just about do it. Would you mind if I order a box of Cupid cupcakes to go? My colleagues and I wouldn’t mind a little sample. Can’t hurt,’ she said with a self-conscious giggle.

  What people wouldn’t do for love. ‘It certainly won’t hurt.’ Amy boxed up eight, two of each variety, and handed them to her. ‘Enjoy.’

  Amy was glad to see the back of the reporter as she strode out the door.

  By the time Amy closed up and cleaned everything down, her eyes were smarting, and her muscles were heavy. Her lower back ached. She wanted to make something simple for dinner, have a long hot shower, and climb into bed.

  But a big pile of mail wrapped in a rubber band was waiting for her on the bench. Leaving her mail for too long without reading it was asking for trouble because the only mail she received these days were bills and statements and more bills.

  Amy made a cup of tea and sat at the bench. She started opening the envelopes, reading each as she went. Her stomach always churned as she did this because she never knew if she was going to open any horrible surprises. She detested this fear she had developed for mail and phone calls.

  An official-looking envelope addressed to her restaurant’s business name was next in the pile. Her stomach leaped. She tore it open and unfurled the letter inside. It was from the Australian Taxation Office.

  She read through the letter.

  Her heart rate thudded quicker the more she read. By the end, her throat was tight with fear. Her belly cramped. Turned out she hadn’t lodged the last three-quarters of Business Activity Statements.

  ‘Damn it,’ she hissed.

  She hadn’t even realised. That was a job her bookkeeper always handled. But after six months, she couldn’t afford to keep the bookkeeper, so official tax obligations fell by the wayside.

  ‘I don’t know how to prepare one of these,’ she groaned. But she had less than a week to get it done or they were going to penalise her. ‘Anyone would think I had nothing better to do with my life.’ Amy stood, tipped her tea out, threw the cup in the sink and marched out the back to the storage shed.

  For the next hour, she collected all the restaurant paperwork from a box that had been shoved right down the back. Soon she was neck deep in invoices and calculations and tax legislation. Her body was vibrating.

  But come ten o’clock, she was so tired she could barely concentrate and was scared she’d make an error not in her favour. Sleep was the best thing for her now.

  The next morning, Amy wanted to shout and cry and rant and punch as she stared at the final figures she had calculated on her Business Activity Statements. She owed over thirty-thousand dollars, payable immediately because she was already overdue with lodging them.

  She couldn’t understand how this was possible, but she had checked and double-checked her figures.

  Turned out she’d had to charge goods and services tax (GST) on every meal she sold, yet wasn’t able to claim a credit on most of the food she bought because fresh food was GST-free.

  ‘Damn it!’ she screamed.

  How the hell was she going to be able to get around this? Amy rang the Australian Taxation Office to talk to them. To see if she could set up some kind of arrangement to pay it off, but they only worked business hours.

  She bit back a groan. Waiting until Monday until she knew her fate was going to be torture. Her stomach churned; she thought she might be sick. How the hell had she dug herself in so deep?

  There was no way out of this. Even if the Tax Office did grant her a payment arrangement, she couldn’t afford it. She was already hanging on by a thread.

  She had done everything she could to stay here. Absolutely everything. And as difficult as it was to confront, let alone accept, she had only three options left and each was as grim as the other.

  1. Close Sugar Cakes, move to another city and try and find the highest paying job she could. But even that didn’t give her guarantees.

  2. Claim bankruptcy, but the hit to her credit rating ruled out any near-future opportunities to run her own business. And the wretched shame attached to being bankrupt was more than she could tolerate.

  3. Ring her parents, tell them the truth and ask for help.

  Her chest was squeezing, she couldn’t breathe. No matter how much it pained her, mortified her, she was going to have to ask her parents for help. She was going to have to come clean.

  Amy paced the kitchen floor, phone in hand, desperately seeking another alternative. But there wasn’t any. This was her lot. Her three options.

  Where Tom fit in now, she did
n’t know. Her heart swelled with painful emotion to even contemplate that this may be the end for their relationship. Because what happened with Tom depended upon whether or not she could stay in Alpine Ridge.

  Amy stamped her feet and groaned to the ceiling. No more chickening out; there was too much at stake—Mitch, Sophie, the shop, and Tom—she had to take action. She had to do what she could to stay here. With shaking hands, she dialled her mum’s phone number.

  Her mother answered on the first ring.

  Amy nearly hung up, but she restrained. ‘Hi, Mum,’ she said, unable to keep the tremble from her voice.

  ‘Hi, Amy. How’s everything going?’

  ‘Um … that’s why I’m ringing.’ Amy drew a deep breath. ‘There’s something I need to tell you.’

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘I … I had to close my business. The restaurant … it wasn’t doing so well.’

  ‘But I thought it was going great. You said just the other week that it was better than ever.’

  Amy sighed. ‘It hadn’t been performing well for a long time. I was too embarrassed to tell you.’

  ‘I’m sorry to hear that, but I guess it’s to be expected,’ said Mum. Amy didn’t miss the ‘I told you so’ in that statement.

  Amy’s hackles shot up, but she had to ignore the barb. She needed help. Her parents were the only ones who could. ‘I’m in trouble. Financially.’

  ‘I see. How much?’

  ‘Quite a bit. I was hoping I could borrow some money, just to help me get on top of things. I promise I’ll pay you and Dad back.’

  Mum sighed into the phone. ‘How much, Amy?’

  ‘Thirty thousand dollars.’ The figure burned on her tongue.

  There was silence for a long moment. ‘I’ll need to discuss this with your father first.’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘I’ll call you back soon.’

  ‘Okay. Thanks, Mum.’

  Amy hung up. Her head lolled forward, her shoulders hunched. How humiliating. She was a twenty-nine-year-old woman asking her parents for financial help. Big financial help.

  At that moment, Amy held sentiments that felt a little like self-hate. Never had she been more mortified. Never had she felt like a bigger failure. And the worse thing was, she couldn’t change what had happened, and right now, she was no longer even able to hide it.

  The phone rang in her hand. She jolted and looked at the screen. Mum was calling back.

  ‘Hello,’ she said into the phone.

  ‘Amy?’ It was Dad.

  Her stomach sunk to the floor. She could tell from that one word said with a loud, measured bass, he was angry. ‘Hi, Dad.’

  ‘Your restaurant failed? When did this happen?’

  Amy closed her eyes, sucked in a breath and told the truth. There wasn’t much else left to do. ‘Nearly four months ago. Just before Rachel died.’

  ‘And you’ve been lying to us all this time?’ His deep voice grew higher-pitched, louder. ‘I don’t understand what would possess you—’

  ‘I didn’t want to disappoint you,’ she shouted back.

  ‘Too late for that. We told you years ago that it was a stupid idea to become a chef. A stupid idea. You could have gone to medical school, and all this mess would have been avoided.’

  ‘And I would have been miserable.’

  ‘You sound pretty miserable as it is. A grown woman asking for thirty thousand dollars from her parents. Doesn’t get much more miserable than that.’

  Amy squeezed her eyes closed, drew a depth breath. ‘I won’t deny that.’

  ‘I won’t be lending you the money, Amy. You and your generation’s sense of entitlement is beyond belief. I won’t be supporting it. This is your mess, I will not be cleaning it up.’

  His words stung her and those ridges running the length of her spine stood on end. ‘I don’t have a sense of entitlement. I was hoping my parents could help me, that’s all. I didn’t choose to be in this mess—’

  ‘Yes, you bloody well did. The moment you went against our good advice, you chose this. Life isn’t always roses. Work isn’t meant to be fun. You work hard, and eventually it pays off.’

  ‘I worked my arse off every single day. You have no right to say that I didn’t. I took a risk. I failed. I’m sorrier than you could ever believe.’

  ‘And I’m more disappointed in you than you could ever believe,’ he said with a gruff tone. ‘So what have you been doing for the last four months?’

  She swallowed her pride. ‘I’ve been working at a cupcake shop in the country.’

  ‘A cupcake shop. Three years of culinary school, intense training overseas at the best restaurants, and you end up at a cupcake shop?’ She didn’t miss the patronising tone.

  ‘I was here to help Rachel. I’m staying to help Mitch with the baby.’ And I fell in love with a man who I would do anything to stay with.

  ‘That’s just ridiculous, Amy. Sure, your intentions are honourable, but do you know how stupid that sounds? You’re in financial trouble. I thought that would have rung alarm bells that perhaps you need to be aiming a little higher than a cupcake shop. If you insist on being a chef, you may as well be a respected one and draw a decent wage. Does that make sense?’

  She blew out a long breath. ‘Yes. That makes sense.’

  ‘And what about this Michelin star business? You’ve just given up that dream, have you?’

  ‘Not entirely. I just … I needed time.’

  ‘And look where time got you. You need to get your act together. Wasting away in the country, earning pennies, and ignoring your finances is the most irresponsible thing you’ve ever done. I didn’t pay hundreds of thousands on private schools for you to throw it all away.’

  His words stung her like a swarm of wasps that wouldn’t let up. They stung because there was an ounce of truth to what he saying. A truth she had been pushing aside, out of sight.

  In a way, she had been hiding out here, hoping her problems would magically sort themselves out.

  She knew from the beginning she needed a higher paying job, but she was too scared to face the shame of working for someone else again.

  Sure, it has been great helping out Mitch and being here for Sophie. And then there was Tom. A tender ache formed around her heart when she thought of him. But, at the end of the day, no matter how much she wanted to stay here with Tom or keep her word to Rachel, it was no longer reasonable for her to do so.

  In truth, it hadn’t been practical from the very beginning. Maybe that’s why she had been reluctant to tell her parents that her restaurant had failed because they would have pushed her in a direction she wasn’t ready to go in.

  ‘I understand,’ she said.

  ‘Do you?’

  She gritted her teeth. ‘Yes. I get it.’

  ‘You prove to me that you’re going to take responsibility for this problem by getting yourself a real job, and I may rethink loaning you the money.’

  There were no other options left. She had to take his offer, no matter how much she had to lose leaving Alpine Ridge. ‘Fine. Thank you.’

  ‘Ring me when you’ve got a more respectable position.’

  ‘I will.’

  When she hung up, she was shaking all over. In the last four months, she had lost so much. Now she had to muster the courage to tell Tom that she was leaving.

  Amy stared at her phone as it sat on the bench, but she couldn’t bring herself to use it. Whether she and Tom called their relationship short-term or not, it had blossomed into something so much more. It had blossomed into love.

  This was going to hurt. A lot.

  A car sounded outside, and Amy’s heart throbbed. Tom? She headed for the back door. But instead of Tom, Mitch was standing there.

  ‘Mitch?’ she said opening the door. ‘Um … come in.’

  His glare possessed a darkness that incited goose bumps on her flesh, and she regretted asking him inside. Plus her paperwork and bills were spread all over the bench.

&
nbsp; ‘Where’s Sophie?’ she asked, trying to keep it light.

  ‘She’s spending the morning with Pete and Barb.’ He reeked of alcohol, his clothes were in disarray. His eyes were bloodshot.

  ‘Everything okay?’ she asked.

  He stepped around her and walked to the back room, poking his head in. ‘So you are living here?’

  Amy winced. She’d forgotten that he didn’t know about that yet. ‘Um, yeah, I’m trying to save a little money not paying rent.’

  He went to the bench, pulled something out of his pocket and slapped it down—a piece of paper now sitting among all her bills.

  Pulse beating hard in her throat, Amy went to the paper and read it. It was from the landlord of Sugar Cakes—a notification that the property was being misused as a residential premises, and it needed to be remedied within seven days.

  Amy sighed. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t know there were those covenants.’

  ‘I didn’t know you were staying here. What the hell is going on, Amy?’ he asked.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  He turned to all the bills and looked at them. When he faced her again, understanding was thick in his expression. ‘This is why you’re with my brother? You hoping he can get you out of this mess?’

  Amy narrowed her eyes. ‘Of course not. How dare you even suppose that?’

  ‘How dare I?’ he asked, indignant. He reached into his pocket and pulled out another piece of paper. He handed it to her. ‘How dare you,’ he said, words low and restrained.

  Amy snatched the paper—a newspaper clipping. She read it, though could barely concentrate. The reporter that was in here during the week had written it.

  An article about the shop and the magical qualities of its cupcakes. And right down the bottom was a quote, straight from Amy’s mouth:

  My best friend, who started this business, was a true romantic and renowned for her own matchmaking abilities. I think her spirit still lives on in this place, even though she’s no longer here.

  Amy lifted her focus from the page and met Mitch’s stern gaze.

  ‘You have no fucking right to exploit my wife like this. What kind of bullshit is this?’ he asked, snatching the clipping from her. ‘Her spirit still lives on in this place,’ he read. ‘Is this a sick joke? You think my wife would be hanging around here helping you make money off of her?’