The Sweetest Thing (17 page)

‘I did. Josh thought it was hilarious.’

‘Would you like some breakfast before you go?’

‘I’ll have something when I get back,’ Adam says. ‘You don’t have to get up, you know. You don’t have to check up on me all the time.’

‘I didn’t want you being late on your first day.’

‘I had three alarms set for ten to five – the iPod dock, my phone and the travel clock.’

‘Why ten to five?’

‘Ten minutes for a lie-in.’ He smiles. ‘Stop fussing, Mum, and go back to bed.’

‘I might just do that.’ Lucky joins me, curling around my feet. I drift in and out of sleep, wondering how Guy does it, and whether Adam will be able to keep up these early starts.

I don’t get up again until eight when Sophie comes pounding up the stairs and throws herself on to the bed to tell me the chickens are well, but there are no eggs yet.

‘I’ve given them their breakfast, cleaned out their water and left them shut in. I can’t wait until they go outside. Do you think they’ll lay eggs then?’

‘I hope so.’

‘I can tell the difference between Lisa and Maggie,’ Sophie says, ‘but I can’t tell which one’s Marge.’

‘You’ll have to draw them all and make a key so we know which one’s which.’

‘That’s a good idea.’ She snuggles up to me and I put my arm around her.

‘I missed you, you know.’

‘I missed you too.’ I know I asked them about what
they’d done in the car last night, but they weren’t in the mood for chatting then.

‘So what did you get up to this weekend?’ I ask her again.

‘We went shopping in Oxford Street. It’s funny, isn’t it, that Oxford Street is in London, not in Oxford? It was just with Daddy. We saw Alice yesterday afternoon when she came back from seeing her friends – but she said she had a headache and went to lie down. Daddy wasn’t very pleased.’

Sympathetic as ever, I muse.

‘Have you sold any more cakes yet?’ Sophie says, changing the subject.

‘Not yet.’

‘Oh?’ She purses her lips, which in this light seem unusually glossy and red.

‘Are you wearing lipstick?’ I ask her.

‘Daddy bought it for me.’

‘It’s a bit early in the morning for make-up, isn’t it?’ I point out. Eight, in my opinion, is also too young. What does David think he’s doing? I wish he wouldn’t keep taking them shopping when he’s supposed to be spending quality time with them, not buying them everything they ask for. It’s as if he’s buying their love, which seems unfair because I’m not in the position to do the same.

Sophie ignores my comment and goes on, ‘Daddy said you wouldn’t have sold any.’

‘Well, I wish he’d keep his opinions to himself.’

‘Never mind, Mummy,’ she consoles me. ‘At least Adam’s got a job now.’

I smile to myself – I can’t see Adam handing over his hard-earned cash.

‘If you can’t sell your cakes, I’ll get a job too.’

‘That’s very kind of you,’ I say, touched by her thoughtfulness, ‘but what will you do?’

‘I’ll look after people’s chickens for them while they go on holiday,’ she says brightly.

‘I don’t know how much money you’d earn from that – chickenfeed, I imagine. Most people probably ask their neighbours.’

‘Will Guy look after our hens when we go on holiday?’

‘I expect he would, but we won’t be going on holiday for a while.’ I can’t foresee a time when I can afford to jet off somewhere exotic.

‘We’ll have to pretend,’ Sophie says.

‘I thought we’d have a housewarming party instead.’ It’s something I’ve wanted to do since we moved here, to have family and friends to visit and share our new home for a weekend.

The girls and I have breakfast and walk Lucky around the estate before Adam returns home. Having seen the cows coming into the field and heard Lucky’s hopeful yapping, I intercept Adam at the back door.

‘Wait,’ I say, holding my nose. ‘Get your boots and overalls off. Outside!’

He opens his mouth to argue.

‘You can’t come in like that – you’re filthy. I can tell you’ve been washing down the parlour – most of the muck’s ended up on you. Go and get yourself straight in the bath.’

When he’s back downstairs again, high with the scent of body spray, I ask him how he got on.

‘It was great.’ Adam stretches and yawns. ‘I had breakfast with Guy – in the farmhouse.’

‘What’s it like inside?’ I have to ask.

‘It’s a bit messy – not dirty, just untidy.’

‘I’m surprised you noticed, considering the state of your bedroom. Is that all?’

‘Why do you want to know?’

‘Because I’m a nosy neighbour.’

‘Sophie’s gone clucky over the new hens,’ Adam changes the subject as she disappears off to check for eggs for at least the tenth time this morning. ‘They won’t lay if you keep disturbing them,’ he calls after her, but I don’t think she hears.

We’re interrupted by the sound of the phone, my mobile. It takes me a moment to find it under a sheaf of post on the kitchen table.

‘Hi,’ I say, answering it.

‘Is that Jennie’s Cakes?’ says a female voice.

‘Oh? Yes. Jennie speaking.’ I’m gobsmacked. ‘How can I help you?’

‘I saw your advert in the paper and wondered if you’d be able to quote me for a wedding cake.’

A potential order? I start looking frantically for my pristine order book. Adam finds it for me. I grab a pen from the drawer and stand there, poised to write down the details. Name, address and an appointment for six o’clock this evening, to meet the bride and chat through the options.

‘I’ll see you there, at the Old Forge, Talyford,’ I confirm before saying goodbye. Then I look at Adam and throw my arms up in the air.

‘Bingo!’ I’m ecstatic.

‘It isn’t an order, Mum,’ he says, bringing me down to earth. ‘It’s more of an enquiry.’

‘Yes, but it’s a start,’ I insist, my excitement already tinged with panic. Where do I start? I’ve got some photos of cakes that I’ve made for family and friends for their special occasions, and I can whip up a quick
fruit cake and chocolate sponge to offer as samples … ‘Adam, can I ask you a huge favour?’

‘Will I look after the girls? I heard you arranging the appointment, and yes, I’ll do it.’

‘Thanks, Adam.’ I’m touched that he realises how much Jennie’s Cakes means to me. ‘You’re a star. What are your plans for the rest of the day?’

‘I dunno. I wish Josh was here. Can he come and stay sometime?’

‘Actually, you can ask him to our housewarming do – the last weekend in August.’

‘Next weekend?’ Adam’s face brightens. ‘We’re having a party?’

‘That’s right – you’ll have to see if he can get a lift with Karen or Summer. Oh,’ I add, ‘he’ll have to bring overalls and a paintbrush. That’s the deal. We’ll provide the paint, food and drink, in return for a fun weekend spent decorating Uphill House.’ I’ve worked out that I can buy cider from Guy and negotiate a deal on paint with Mr Victor at the ironmonger’s, to keep costs down. I’ll do a load of baking beforehand. ‘It’ll be wonderful to see everyone.’

‘Auntie Karen won’t do any painting,’ Adam observes. ‘You know what she’s like – she hates getting her hands dirty.’

‘Adam.’ I try to discourage him from dissing my sister in case he starts doing it in front of her.

‘Uncle Hugo won’t do any painting either. He’ll have a few drinks like he did on Granddad’s birthday.’

‘He did get a little merry,’ I concede.

‘Mum …’ Adam grins. ‘He fell over.’

‘All right, he went a bit too far.’ Not only did he fall over, but he also started pestering me again. Sober, he’s affectionate and funny. Under the influence, he’s
embarrassing, suggestive and, since my divorce, even more pushy.

‘Auntie Karen wasn’t happy, was she?’

I shake my head. Everyone noticed Hugo staggering about in the hotel where my parents held the party for my dad’s seventieth, but I’m not sure how many observed his attentions towards me. He can be pretty sly about it.

‘Are you going to invite Guy?’

It’s always a good idea to invite the neighbours if you’re having a noisy party, but I don’t think Guy would come anyway. Would he get on with my friends? Would they have anything in common?

‘I’ll see.’ I postpone thinking about the party, my mind filling up with images of wedding cakes, sparkling with smooth icing and decorated with fresh flowers, or maybe crystals and pearls. And how about something different: tiers made to look like suitcases with a hat box on top? Or maybe heart-shaped ones?

Am I a terrible mother? Am I forcing my children to grow up too fast by placing too much responsibility on their young shoulders? I’ve left Adam home alone before, but not Georgia and Sophie. I suppose I’m reluctant to leave Sophie in particular, because she’s the baby of the family, the last of my brood. I look at her standing between her brother and sister, holding their hands, and think, I never want her to grow up.

‘Adam, promise me you’ll ring straight away if there’s a problem? I’ll have my mobile switched on.’

‘Yes, Mother,’ he says sweetly.

‘And if I hear there’s been any trouble …’

‘You mean fighting,’ Georgia interrupts.

‘I mean any misdemeanour whatsoever, you’ll all be
grounded for ever.’ Wrong thing to say – I can’t possibly carry it through.

‘We won’t have to go to school. Hurray!’ says Sophie.

‘I want to go to school,’ says Georgia.

I glance at the clock. It’s ten to six. I’m going to be late.

‘There’s chocolate cake in the larder.’ I pick up my cake boxes, knife and pink paper napkins, a file of photos and a price list. ‘I won’t be long.’ I hesitate. ‘Do I look professional?’ I wasn’t sure what to wear and had settled on dark trousers and a white blouse.

‘Mum, you look great,’ Adam says. ‘Good luck.’ I love the fact they’re so enthusiastic, that the order of a wedding cake would mean as much to them as it would to me … I just hope I don’t let them down.

By six-fifteen, I’m sitting with a cup of tea in a tiny living room in the Old Forge at Talyford, a couple of miles the other side of town. There’s a dog at my feet, a golden retriever who rests her nose on my thighs and gazes at me with soulful brown eyes.

‘Sally, do stop begging. This is too good for you.’ Penny, the bride-to-be, sits in a wheelchair opposite me, a few cake crumbs left on a napkin in her lap. She’s in her mid to late thirties, I’d guess, and a colourful character – in more ways than one – with her purple bandana, multi-coloured locks of hair and smock spattered with paint. ‘Jennie, that was delicious.’

There’s no sign of the groom, and I’m assuming, from the wedding photos on the wall, that this is Penny’s second marriage.

‘If you choose the fruit cake, I’ll need a fairly quick decision because it needs time to mature.’ I can hear the words as I speak, coming out as if they’ve been
over-rehearsed, which they have, on the way here in the car.

‘Oh, it’s impossible to decide,’ Penny sighs.

‘You could go for a tier of each,’ I suggest.

‘I couldn’t try just another tiny sliver of each, could I?’

‘Of course you can.’

Penny decides to go with the fruit, and then we run through the formalities: pricing, nut allergies and the decorations.

‘Some brides like to have fresh flowers,’ I say.

‘I’d prefer something very plain and simple, marzipan and royal icing, with the bride and groom – oh, and Sally – on the top. You probably think I’m mad, but Sally means a lot to us. She’s my lifeline when Declan’s not here. She fetches and carries, even unloads the washing machine for me.’

‘I could do with a dog like her,’ I say ruefully. ‘We’ve just adopted a rescue dog. He’s lovely but more of a hindrance than a help. I caught him stealing the butter the other day. He had the whole packet.’

‘He isn’t worrying about his cholesterol then,’ Penny chuckles.

‘I don’t think he worries about anything – he takes life as it comes. Look, I’ve done ponies, frogs and penguins, but never a dog before.’ I notice that Sally’s wearing a harness and a short lead. ‘There are companies where you can send a photo and order personalised clay cake toppers that you can keep long after the cake’s gone. I think that would be the way to go here.’

‘Do people really have frogs on their wedding cakes?’

‘I have been asked to put them on my “princess”
range on occasion.’ I feel a bit of a fraud saying this, but I know I’m going to have to ‘big it up’, so to speak, to sell my cakes. A ‘range’ sounds so much better than five or six; ‘on occasion’ so much better than ‘once’. I have only ever made one frog, but decide not to bother Penny with this minor detail.

We continue chatting while I fill in the paperwork and decide on a deposit.

‘Thank you,’ I say when Penny countersigns the agreement: delivery of one wedding cake, iced and decorated for the big day at the end of September; to be set up at the venue by 2 p.m.

‘I read in your ad that you’re new to the area,’ she says. ‘Do you like it?’