Ivy Lane: Winter: (3 page)

The Ivy Lane Christmas party was the next highlight on my social calendar – actually, the only highlight on my social calendar. I’d heard so much about it during the course of the year and I was really looking forward to it. Apparently, it was always a jolly affair, with festive food and drink and the awarding of the prizes from the annual show. Not only that, it would probably be Gemma’s last allotment event for ages. Her baby was due at the end of December, she had already given up her plot and for all I knew, she might not come back to allotment gardening for years.

The show
had
to go on.

‘No, no,’ Peter assured me, ‘we won’t cancel it. It’s just that this is usually the one free event of the year. All food and drink is traditionally provided by the committee. It won’t go down well if we have to charge an entry fee or ask people to bring their own.’

‘Mmm,’ I said, sneaking a glance at my fellow members, ‘I can see the problem.’

Secretly, I didn’t think that anyone would mind. I mean, everyone knew about the fire in the shop and the damage to the roof. Surely they would understand and not grumble? But this was my first official committee meeting, far be it from me to contradict anyone. Besides which, I had a sort-of plan forming.

‘When will the pavilion be ready for use again, Peter?’

‘Two weeks,’ he said, consulting his diary. ‘Weather permitting.’

‘How about we christen the new roof with a fund-raising event?’ I said, feeling quite excited at the prospect. ‘A cake sale, perhaps?’

This would be perfect. My new-found passion for baking needed an outlet other than feeding myself huge quantities of cake. And my energies needed an outlet, too; I’d foolishly been thinking that I would have a blossoming romance with Aidan to keep me busy this side of Christmas but as that didn’t seem to be the case, an event could serve as a substitute, albeit a poor one.

I smiled encouragingly at the three of them. Nigel scratched his head, Peter tapped his cheek with a pen and stared blankly at his papers and Christine lifted her shoulders in a weary sigh. Not quite the reaction I’d been hoping for.

‘There’s a lot of work involved in these events, you know, Tilly.’ Nigel frowned. ‘And I’m not really sure that all the effort would pay off financially.’

‘I’ll organize it all,’ I added, pulling my hopeful face.

That seemed to do the trick: they all perked up considerably.

‘And we can have a tombola and a raffle. Those sorts of things always raise loads. And you love seeing the pavilion busy,’ I reminded Christine.

‘True.’ She nodded thoughtfully. ‘Although I don’t know if selling cakes to the other plot holders will make us much money and there aren’t many people around at this time of year.’

‘I do love home-baking, though.’ Nigel sighed wistfully. ‘I remember the cakes my wife used to make. Shop-bought ones aren’t the same at all.’

My heart twisted for him. It was easy to forget sometimes that I wasn’t the only one who had lost their special someone.

‘Well, I think this should be a cake sale with a difference,’ I said, patting his arm. ‘And to make it more exciting, why not introduce an element of competition? We could make it easy for everyone to enter – even you, Nigel. There can be all sorts of prizes so that it’s not all about baking skills. We could have a category just for men, or does that sound sexist? Perhaps a beginners’ category, to be fair? How about one for the most unusual flavour? Ooh, I know, we could have a theme . . .’

I was off. All sorts of ideas were popping into my head. We could invite the whole neighbourhood, it needn’t just be the Ivy Lane community. This would bring us all together again before Christmas. I felt a shiver of excitement. Oh yes, this was going to be such fun.

Peter chuckled. ‘I can see you’ve got it all worked out, Tilly.’ He flicked through his diary and scribbled himself a note. ‘What about the last Saturday in November, how does that sound?’

Three weeks from now. I clapped my hands and managed to restrict my excitement to an acceptable small squeak.

‘That’s perfect.’ I grinned. ‘We’re going to make loads of money, I promise, and then Ivy Lane will have the best Christmas party ever.’

The following Saturday I met Gemma for lunch in the café on Shenton Road. The café was a short walk from my house, but I had picked up my new car from Mike’s garage a few days before, so I decided to drive. Having my own car was a huge milestone, if a little scary at times, but I’d done it and I was proud of myself. And it felt so good to be able to jump in the car and just drive whenever and wherever I wanted to.

I parked right outside the café and spotted Gemma straightaway through the glass in the prime spot by the window.

I tooted the horn until she noticed me and we waved excitedly at each other.

‘Tilly! How’s the new set of wheels?’ she squealed as I joined her at the table. She struggled to her feet to give me a hug.

‘Amazing! It’s a bit weird driving again, but oh, the bliss of taking shopping home in a car instead of stuffing everything in the panniers of my bike. I think I bought up half of Tesco’s stock in my excitement last night!’

‘I’m so pleased for you, babe,’ she said softly.

‘I’ll take you for that baby clothes shopping spree I promised you soon, if you like?’

She nodded and we stared at each other knowingly for a long moment until I felt myself going a bit teary.

‘Anyway, you look fantastic,’ I said, planting a kiss on her cheek. Gone were the dark circles and pale complexion from a few months ago and in their place: bright eyes, glowing skin and an inner calm that made me feel positively pasty by comparison.

‘Don’t be daft,’ she giggled, flicking her curls off her face as she sat back down. ‘I’ve ordered us both bacon sandwiches and a pot of tea, hope you don’t mind?’ She pulled a face. ‘I’m starving. I was even contemplating eating the ketchup just before you walked in.’

I laughed and shook my head. ‘This might not help matters then.’ I plonked myself in the chair next to her and pulled a poster from my bag.

Gemma took it out of my hand and read aloud. ‘Ivy Lane Great Cake Competition? Now I definitely need food,’ she groaned and rubbed her rotund belly with one hand. ‘Ooh, thank goodness,’ she hissed, looking over my shoulder. ‘Here it comes.’

‘Bacon sandwiches and tea for two.’ The waitress set our order down on the table and smiled at us. She bent low and hissed into Gemma’s ear, ‘I’ve put extra bacon in yours.’

‘You’re literally a life saver,’ Gemma beamed and took a giant bite.

‘Excuse me, would you mind displaying one of these, please?’ I said, pinching the poster from Gemma’s fingers.

‘Sure.’ The waitress was roughly my age with luscious red hair, and a smattering of freckles across her pale cheeks. ‘Oh, I’d love an allotment,’ she sighed, pushing a strand of hair out of her eyes. ‘Is it very hard work?’

‘Depends on who you ask.’ I smirked at Gemma. ‘But no, not really. Come along to the cake event of the year and have a look around for yourself. You could join the waiting list if you like what you see.’

‘Thanks, I might do that. Although I’m not much of a cook.’ She walked over to the noticeboard and pinned it up my poster.

‘Look at you, advertising the place!’ exclaimed Gemma, squirting a generous amount of ketchup on top of the bacon. ‘Mother will be so proud.’

‘I’m on the committee now, you know.’ I smiled at her haughtily.

‘So tell me about this cake thing, then,’ she said, taking a large bite of her sandwich.

I poured us both a cup of tea and filled her in. Since coming up with the idea last week the event had snowballed and had taken over my life. With the rest of the committee’s rather bewildered consent I had created a cake sale with a difference. Each person would enter their cake to be sold and judged under a certain category: novelty cake shapes, cakes with hidden vegetables, the ‘taste better than they look’ cakes, the ‘unusual flavour’ cakes and ‘first time ever in the kitchen’ cakes.

This list, I rather thought, left no room for anyone at Ivy Lane to try to wriggle out of it.

I had designed posters like the one I’d just given to the waitress and pinned them up everywhere and had leaflets printed which I was hoping Mia might help me deliver. Plus every child at school had gone home with one in their reading folder yesterday. I’d phoned up every plot holder and begged them all to take part and I’d arranged for people to buddy up, so those who didn’t bake had someone to call on for help or some moral support if their Victoria sponge failed to rise, or whatever. Liz had offered to help Nigel, and Vicky and Dougie, who both claimed not to be able to cook a thing, were going round to Brenda’s for a baking lesson. I’d even phoned Wendy and Richard after Peter had told me they were definitely taking a plot next spring. Wendy had hooted with excitement until she’d realized that the event clashed with their three-week Caribbean cruise, so they couldn’t make it. Charlie hadn’t picked up his phone so I’d left him a message and everyone else had agreed to come. I was thrilled!

‘I’ve even made a collection of some easy recipes with hidden vegetables, just to give people a few ideas,’ I said, taking a copy from my bag and waving it under Gemma’s nose.

I bit into my bacon sandwich. ‘Yum. Good choice. What?’

Gemma’s eyes were twinkling at me and she shook her head innocently.

I sighed and swallowed my mouthful. ‘I know what you’re thinking. I’m taking it too seriously. But it’s my first event and I want—’

‘No, Tills,’ said Gemma softly, covering my hand with hers. ‘That was
not
what I was thinking.’

‘Oh?’ I felt my cheeks colour at her tone.

We eyed each other in silence for a long moment.

‘Just ring him,’ Gemma said finally.

I took a deep breath with the intention of pretending not to know what she was talking about but I caught her eye and snapped my mouth shut instead. My shoulders drooped and she gripped my hand a bit tighter.

‘I know what this is, you know. All this cake competition stuff,’ she said primly, dabbing the corners of her mouth with a napkin. ‘You’re in classic distraction mode: keeping yourself busy to keep your mind off Aidan.’

I kept my mouth shut. She was right, of course, but I hadn’t realized how transparent I was.

‘So why don’t you phone him and explain, once again, that Charlie is just a friend?’

‘But don’t you think I should wait for him to call me?’ I dropped my sandwich back onto the plate. Gemma eyed it up hungrily and I handed my untouched half to her.

‘Well, pardon me, Jane Austen.’ She rolled her eyes and took a large bite. ‘I think we women have moved on a bit since
Pride and Prejudice
, you know.’

‘Oh God,’ I groaned and squeezed my eyes shut briefly. ‘I’ve thought about phoning him, truly. And I hear what you’re saying, but it’s been ten years since I’ve been on the dating scene.’

We both winced at the expression.

‘And the thing is, if I contact him, I’ll never know whether he would have got in touch with me himself, will I? And I want him to want to get in touch with me.’ Very badly, in fact.

Gemma looked a bit confused for a moment and then nodded. ‘I see where you’re coming from.’

‘And I know he’s in the country at the moment, so if he wanted to phone, he could,’ I added.

‘You’ve been keeping tabs on him, then?’ she smirked. I went bright red and buried my face behind my teacup.

‘No not exactly, your mum happened to mention that he was in London for a few weeks editing his Peru programme, that’s all. She’s still in touch with the
Green Fingers
team apparently.’

‘So what are you going to do?’ Gemma craned her neck round to get the waitress’s attention. ‘All this talk of cake has made me hungry again,’ she muttered.

‘I am going to run the most profitable cake event Kingsfield has ever seen,’ I announced solemnly. ‘And you are going to help me.’

‘OK.’ She nodded. ‘I’m on it.’

‘Really?’ I beamed at her. ‘Thanks, Gemma.’

‘Yeah. The bun’s already in the oven, isn’t it? Boom boom!’ She elbowed me and guffawed at her own joke.

I cast my eyes heavenwards. ‘I hope your cakes are better than your jokes,’ I sighed, ‘or you will be in trouble.’

The day of the Ivy Lane Great Cake Competition had arrived, thankfully all the repairs had been completed on time and the weather couldn’t have been more perfect if it had tried. It was cold but the sky was dazzlingly blue. There had been frost on the inside of the pavilion windows when I’d arrived an hour ago. But now the room was cosy and warm.

Sunlight poured through the glass and dust motes danced in the sunbeams as I and the rest of the allotment committee and Roy darted around putting the finishing touches to the display tables. I was beginning to see why Christine always seemed to move at over a hundred miles an hour; there was so much to do!

I shimmied with a mixture of pleasure and fear as I set out a new notebook, several pens and a Quality Street tin to store the money in on a table by the door. The tin was possibly a bit on the large side, but there was no harm in being optimistic.

We’d arranged tables all around the room to display the cakes that I was hoping would arrive imminently to be judged; there were chairs in the centre of the room for people to sit and enjoy our delicious refreshments; and in pride of place at one end of the room was the enormous raffle prize: a wicker basket filled with every chocolatey thing imaginable. All we needed now were customers . . .

‘What next?’ asked Peter, wiping his forearm across his brow.

‘Just these signs to go on the tables please, anywhere will do.’ I whipped out the cardboard signs I’d made for each competition category from my bag and handed them over. ‘And then I think we’re good to go,’ I added.

‘Perfect timing, love,’ said Christine, nodding her head towards the clock. ‘Let’s open up.’

‘Already? Oh my goodness!’ I yelped. ‘What if there’s no one there?’

My heart was clattering like a runaway horse. I’d worked so hard for today and really, really wanted to make a success of my first committee fund-raiser. It would be awful if no one turned up.