Christmas At The Cupcake Cafe (34 page)

‘True,’ said Darny.

‘You really pushed it with them.’

‘Hmm.’

‘And you hated that school.’

‘I hated that school.’

Darny
swallowed. He was, Austin saw, genuinely upset.

‘I thought … I kind of hoped …’

‘What?’

Darny kicked the table leg. ‘It’s stupid …’

‘What?’

Darny grimaced. ‘I thought they might kind of come round … maybe think that kids should have a voice.’

Austin sat back. ‘Tell me this isn’t about your Children Should Vote campaign.’

‘We
should
,’ said Darny. ‘Nobody listens to us.’

‘That’s all anybody does,’ said Austin. ‘Oh, bloody hell. They’re going to bring this up when you’re bloody prime minister.’

Darny suddenly looked very tiny.

‘I didn’t mean … I didn’t think it would be a big problem for you.’

Austin took perhaps the deepest breath of his life. ‘No,’ he said. ‘No, you didn’t. Because you are eleven, and you can’t think like that yet. But oh, Darny. I really wish you had.’

‘Am I going to have to go to King’s Mount?’ said Darny, with a note of panic in his voice. ‘They skin kids there, Austin. Especially wee kids. Remember that gang who branded all those year sevens?’

‘I do remember,’ said Austin sombrely. King’s Mount was very rarely out of the local paper. ‘And that’s why,’ he glanced round, ‘that’s why I think we’re just going to stay here, Darny. They have
amazing schools here, places you wouldn’t believe, that like independent thinkers and do all sorts of amazing, cool things, and you’ll get to meet kids from all over the world, and, well, I really think you’d like it …’

‘We’re staying? In New York?’

Darny looked at him. Austin was prepared for tears, shouting, defiance – anything but this.

‘All right!’ said Darny, punching the air. ‘Can’t be worse than that shit hole. Cool! I wish Stebson could see me now! Living in New York! Yeah! When’s Issy coming back?’

‘She … she might not be,’ said Austin. ‘It’s hard for her to leave the shop.’

‘Don’t be stupid,’ said Darny. ‘Of course she can leave the shop, there’s loads of people there.’

‘It’s not quite that simple,’ said Austin. ‘It’s her business.’

Darny just stared at him. ‘She’s not coming?’

Kelly-Lee came over. ‘Is everything OK over here? And I’m sorry, I couldn’t help overhearing – is it true you’re staying?’

‘Looks like it,’ said Austin.

‘Oh, that’s WUNNERFUL! I’ll be your new friend.’ She put her hand on his shoulder. ‘Show you around. And you, sweetie. I’m sure we’re going to be the best of friends.’

Darny looked at her without saying anything and rudely kicked
the table. After a while he said quietly, ‘I think it was me. I think it was my fault.’

Austin squinted at him. ‘What?’

‘That Issy’s not coming.’

‘You think you drove Issy away?’

‘I was bad at school, then I was mean to her.’ Darny’s face was terribly distressed. ‘I didn’t mean to, Austin. I didn’t mean to. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.’

‘Ssh, sssh,’ said Austin, who suddenly found himself wanting to swear. ‘No. Of course not. Of course it wasn’t you. She loves you.’

Darny started to cry.

‘It was me,’ said Austin. ‘Being a selfish idiot. And things moving and changing and me thinking, like an idiot, that it would be great and I should just go along with it, and well, here we are …’

Darny no longer looked like a truculent pre-teen. He looked like an upset, terrified little boy.

‘Please make her come back,’ he said. ‘Please, Austin.’

Austin swallowed hard. He didn’t answer.

Issy had unpacked
all the food and drink down in the basement, along with as many small random gifts as she’d been able to grab charging through Boots in a tearing hurry. Upstairs, Maya was still on her rounds, and Pearl and Caroline were bickering happily about what age children should be told the truth about Santa Claus. Caroline felt that if the parents had worked hard for the money, children should appreciate that and learn the cost of things. Pearl did not agree. It was the Saturday before Christmas, and Louis was making a Santa beard for himself out of a huge roll of cotton wool and cardboard and sticky tape. He also had a Santa hat on that Big Louis had given him, and was smiling benignly at other children coming into the shop.

‘I’m not the real Santa,’ he said helpfully to one little girl. ‘Would you like a beard?’

The little girl
nodded, and before long Louis had turned his handiwork into a thriving cottage industry. Eventually a small woman who’d come in by herself and ordered only a green tea, then looked around for a long time and started writing furiously in a small notebook, leant over.

‘Can I have one?’ she said.

‘Yes,’ said Louis. ‘But don’t pretend to be Santa Claus. You aren’t him.’

‘I don’t think anyone would ever mistake me for Santa Claus.’

‘Or a pleesman. You’re not allowed to dress up as a pleesman.’

The woman looked puzzled and assured Louis she had no intention of masquerading as a policeman.

‘Sorry,’ said Pearl through her thick white beard. ‘His dad let him watch
Terminator 2
and it scared him half to death.’

‘I’m not surprised,’ said the woman. ‘It scared me half to death and I’m grown up.’

Louis fixed her with his warm brown eyes.

‘It’s not real, lady. It just in a film. Go back to sleep.’

The woman suddenly cracked open a huge grin and shut her notebook with a clunk. She turned towards Pearl.

‘OK, OK,’ she said. ‘I give up. I’ve had enough. It’s nearly Christmas and I’m really knackered.’ She stepped up to the counter and held out her hand to shake. ‘Abigail Lester.
Super Secret London Guide
. Style section.’

Pearl took her hand
politely without having the faintest idea why.

‘Um, hello.’

Caroline threw herself across the counter like a skinned cat.

‘A-BIGAIL!’ she screeched, as if they were dearest friends. The woman looked rather nonplussed.

‘Um, is this your establishment?’ she said.

‘No, it belongs to the girl crying downstairs in the basement,’ said Pearl. ‘Hang on. ISSY!’

‘Can I offer you a complimentary cake … cup of hot chocolate? Glass of wine? We don’t serve wine, but we keep some for Friday nights …’ Caroline was babbling, and Pearl still couldn’t figure it out.

‘No, no thanks. I can tell by the happy punters that everything’s just lovely.’

Issy clumped up the stairs feeling red-eyed and dull. It was as if the jet lag she’d brought back from the States had never gone away, but thickened, and deepened, and settled into her skin, as if she wanted to wake up, rouse herself, but couldn’t, because she knew that if she was wide awake, she would see the world as it was: a space where Austin was thousands of miles away and always would be.

‘Congratulations,’ someone was saying. Issy squinted and noticed the slender girl with the blonde hair. ‘We’ll officially announce it in the next issue, but you win our best-decorated independent shop award.’

Issy blinked.

‘It’s the little
man that swung it,’ Abigail said, looking at Louis, who knew he’d done something good and was waiting to find out exactly what. ‘Giving free Santa beards away is a level of customer service that just goes above and beyond. Well done, young man.’

‘Thank oo very much,’ said Louis, without prompting.

‘So, we’ll send a photographer round … And there’ll be a cheque for five hundred pounds. Congratulations!’

Abigail obviously expected Issy to say something, but Issy couldn’t do much more than mumble her thanks.

‘Of course, the concept was all mine,’ said Caroline, moving in closer. ‘I can take you through all my suppliers and my many inspirations in the world of interior design.’

‘Well, I would like that,’ said Abigail. ‘Here’s my card. We’ll give you a call next week in the doldrums after Christmas – nice and quiet to take the pics.’

Caroline snatched the card before Issy could even raise her hand.

‘Will do! Mwah! Mwah!’

As Abigail departed, to a kiss from Louis, wearing her beard, Caroline turned round in triumph.

‘What just happened?’ asked Issy wearily.

‘Best-decorated shop! I KNEW we could win it. I think it was probably my clever
trompe l’oeil
tinsel.’

‘I’m sure it was,’ said Issy, trying to muster a smile. They’d done well without her after all. This gave her a bittersweet
feeling. ‘Five hundred pounds, eh? Well, I reckon you should split it as an extra Christmas bonus. I can advance it to you if you like.’

‘Well, conceptually speaking it was really my …’ began Caroline, but a quick look from Issy stopped her. Pearl’s heart leapt, but she didn’t want to be unfair.

‘It
was
Caroline’s concept,’ she said. ‘And she did enter us.’

Caroline looked at Pearl, amazed at her generosity.

‘No chance,’ said Issy. ‘It was Louis’ beards, she said so herself. If anything, it should be his. Plus, you’ve been cleaning and dusting all those new decorations every day.’

Caroline couldn’t bear anyone being magnanimous without her.

‘Of course I wouldn’t dream of taking more than my fair share,’ she said. ‘And, after all, it’s not like I need the money.’

Pearl and Issy smiled at one another, and Issy, looking round at the beautiful shop, and the happy punters, felt that surely she ought to be able to squeeze a bit of Christmas spirit out, somewhere.

‘I have made your beard for you here,’ said Louis seriously, holding up stuck-together cotton wool and cardboard with sellotape loops for her ears.

‘Thank you, Louis,’ said Issy. And she put it on.

The traditional
crate of wine – clearly her mother hadn’t realised she’d moved house – arrived at the flat on Christmas Eve. It was kosher, she noticed. She called Marian, but no luck. Anyway, she supposed her mother didn’t celebrate Christmas any more. Not that she ever had, not really.

Everything was ready for tomorrow, all the food prepped and covered in cling film, ready to pop into the big industrial ovens at the café. They could peel all the potatoes tomorrow, but there were many hands for the job. All the bits and bobs like cranberry sauce and buttered cabbage Issy had happily outsourced to Marks & Spencer. The kosher wine would join the bottles of champagne contributed by Caroline and the two bottles of whisky given to Ashok by a grateful patient.

She and Helena sat up late, chatting, as they wrapped presents for Chadani Imelda, who didn’t know what was happening but knew something was, so was using it as an excuse to stay up late. Ashok was dealing with her. Every so often he would run past the sitting room door pursuing a tiny shrieking girl holding a dirty nappy above her head, and Helena and Issy would ignore it.

They were talking about the future.

‘The flat above the café has come up,’ Issy was saying. ‘He’s not sure whether to rent it or sell it. He reckons he’ll get more for it because of where it is. So, basically, I’ve priced myself out of it just by making nice baking smells.’

‘Well, see if he’ll let you
lease it. He already knows you’re a good tenant. Then you can decide what you want to do later.’

‘Hmm, maybe,’ said Issy.

‘And we won’t be here for much longer,’ pointed out Helena. ‘As soon as I start working again, we’ll get a bigger mortgage and move. We need a garden for Chadani Imelda anyway.’

Chadani Imelda was now riding Ashok like a horse and giggling uncontrollably.

‘So you could have this place back.’

‘I could,’ said Issy, looking at the pink kitchen and the nice old faded floral armchairs, currently completely hidden under mountains and mountains of presents. ‘I don’t know. Maybe it’s time to move on.’

‘I’ve registered,’ said Helena. ‘With a nursing agency. Look.’ She held up a sheaf of forms.

‘Wow,’ said Issy. ‘What did you say when they asked why you wanted to come back?’

‘I said, darlings, I can be fabulous simultaneously in many arenas.’

‘Like that?’

‘Yes, exactly like that. No, don’t be stupid. I just reminded them how lucky they’d be to have me, and not to ask such impertinent questions.’