The Winter Wedding (7 page)

‘I could do that,’ Amber said, reading over my shoulder. ‘That one would be fairly easy.’

She jabbed her finger at the screen, pointing to a layered chocolate and raspberry cake, laden with forest fruits.

I looked up at her. ‘I didn’t realise you were awake already. Do you want some French toast? I can whip up some more, if you’d like.’

‘No – don’t worry. I’ve already had breakfast,’ she said. ‘But I’m serious, Hazel. This is for your sister’s wedding, right? They shouldn’t
throw their money away on that stuff. They all just whack on an extra fifty per cent when you mention the word wedding, and you don’t get anything for it. I could make her an incredible cake.
Actually so could you, come to think of it.’

Now Amber mentioned it, perhaps it was worth considering. I’d just had confirmation that the ballet school had availability in August, for the date Lila and Ollie wanted. The only down
point was that the elegant venue was going to eat into Lila and Ollie’s savings considerably. But there were cutbacks we could make elsewhere, and perhaps this was one of them.

‘Fancy a Sunday bake-off?’ I dared Amber. ‘We could both give it our best shot and then I’ll invite Lila and Ollie around to taste?’

‘You’re on,’ Amber said.

Amber chose a disco playlist on her iPod and pulled her dark hair up into a ponytail, pushing her glasses up her nose. ‘Right, H. Are you ready?’

I did up the straps on my apron and double-checked the equipment I had on the kitchen counter. Pablo leapt up onto the kitchen counter and I moved him off, scolding him gently.

‘We’ve got two hours, start to finish, right?’ I asked.

‘That’s right.’

‘OK, ready as I’ll ever be. Let’s go.’

‘Car Wash’ played out from the speakers and Amber and I got to work, whisking and scooping, stirring and scraping. We worked beside each other, and although we were barely talking,
it was relaxed and companionable. It wasn’t living with my sister – and it never would be. But I was starting, in small ways, to enjoy it. Incidentally, that did not mean I was going to
let her win. No way.

I tried to resist the temptation to look over at what she was doing, but sometimes it proved too much. She seemed to be doing something incredibly complicated with meringue and one of those
caramel-gold sugar cages over blueberries.

I’d gone for a light lemon and poppyseed, and the more I looked at it, rising gently in the oven, the more convinced I was that I’d made totally the wrong choice. I’d opted for
something that my sister might feasibly take a bite of but it just wasn’t celebratory enough. It said Tuesday, Thursday, not – the Biggest and Best Day of your Life. When I got it out
of the oven my faith was restored a tiny bit, as my nostrils met with the sweet, enticing aroma. Perhaps something could be simple, but be special too.

I put the cake on a wire rack to cool, standing back for a moment to get some perspective on my effort.

‘Ta-da,’ Amber said quietly, smiling as she pointed to her cake.

I turned and took in her creation – swirls of meringue meeting glazed berries, linked with delicate wires of spun sugar, tier on tier. It was a dream of a wedding cake. It was a
vision.

‘Amber,’ I said. ‘I think you’ve just knocked this one out of the park.’

By the time Lila and Ollie arrived I was entirely sure my cake didn’t stand a chance next to Amber’s creation. Hers wasn’t just a cake – it was art.

‘I’m afraid Amber’s pipped you to the post,’ Ollie said, licking his spoon.

‘Yours was delicious, too, Hazel,’ my sister said, ‘but I agree with Ollie – Amber, you’ve got a real talent for this.’

My pride was taking a bit of a hit. Baking was something I’d always considered myself pretty OK at. I hadn’t expected to be baking Lila and Ollie’s wedding cake – that
was always going to be out of my league – but it was my
thing
. Now Amber was better than me at it, a lot better.

‘Where did you learn to bake like this?’ Ollie asked politely, reading my mind. Amber and I had talked about all sorts of things at work and yet, strangely never this. I’d
assumed she was self-taught, like me.

‘I have to admit I’ve had a bit of an advantage,’ she said. ‘My mum runs a cake shop. She trained me up.’

‘Now you tell me,’ I said, turning to her with a smile.

‘I know. Naughty of me really,’ she said. ‘But I was in the mood for a bake-off and I didn’t want you backing out.’

‘Where’s the shop?’ Lila asked.

‘In Sherbourne, near my family home. I grew up with ovens full of delicious baking smells, and last-minute panics as Mum got cakes ready.’

I saw a flicker of concern pass over my sister’s face, and the corners of her mouth turned down.

‘Don’t worry, Lila.’ I reassured her. ‘That won’t happen with you.’

‘Of course it won’t.’ Amber said, confidently. ‘It’s all in the planning.’

Ollie and Lila looked at each other and appeared to silently agree on something, in that telepathic way they’d developed. That communication that was meant to be exclusive to twins and yet
she now seemed to have with him.

‘Would you do it, Amber?’ Lila said. ‘Would you be able to make our cake? We’d love it if you could.’

Someone once told me that the best business-people are the ones who are willing to take on staff who are more gifted than they are. Who can put their pride aside. I reminded myself of that.
Having Amber on the team could be the best thing that ever happened for Lila’s wedding.

Amber looked at me, gauging my reaction.

‘Of course you should do it,’ I said.

Amber smiled broadly. ‘Great!’

On Monday, back in the office, Amber and I laid out the remainder of the cake samples in the kitchen at work. Word rapidly got around and people drifted up from their desks,
taking slices and stopping to chat as the kettle boiled.

‘This is incredible,’ Josh said, taking a slice of lemon drizzle.

‘Thanks,’ I said. ‘Glad you like it.’

‘You two have something here, I think.’

‘Thank you.’

‘If I were planning a wedding . . .’ He let the sentence trail off.

‘Are you?’

‘No,’ he said hurriedly. ‘I mean well, maybe some day. If my family get their way.’

‘Well. Bear us in mind,’ I said. ‘Although by the time that happens I’m confident you won’t be able to afford us.’

‘A little bit to the left,’ Emma said, watching as I accessorised the set for
Christmas at the Manor
later that day. ‘Nope – back to the
right.’

I took a breath and moved the candlestick back where I had put it in the first place. As I did so, I felt someone looking at me and glanced up to meet Josh’s eye. He was standing over by
the doorway, and smiled, giving a quick wink of solidarity as I followed Emma’s increasingly inconsistent instructions.

‘That’s it, perfect!’ Emma pronounced.

Josh made a face and I stifled the laughter bubbling up inside me.

‘Now – the picture frames. I think they’re still not quite right,’ Emma said.

Josh took a step forward and laid a hand gently on my boss’s shoulder. ‘You know what, Emma – I see what you’re saying. Why don’t you step in yourself and make sure
they are right. OK if I borrow Hazel for a minute?’

I suspected that Josh didn’t need anything from me, but was grateful for the get-out – I’d been following Emma’s whims since eight in the morning, and it was starting to
grate. In any case, Emma didn’t seem to have noticed anything amiss at all, she was focused on unhooking the pictures I’d got from a nearby antiques market and putting them up in a
different arrangement.

‘Thanks,’ I said, once I was out of earshot. ‘I needed a break.’

‘I just wanted to say – the location you suggested is perfect. Listen, I know how hard you’ve been working on the sets, too, and they really do look fantastic. I’ll put
in a good word for you with Aaron, see if we can’t get you some more of the kind of projects you want to be working on.’

‘Thank you,’ I said.

‘I mean – with the promotion going to Tim, and Amber coming in, I guess you probably aren’t feeling that motivated.’

I gave a weak smile. ‘You could say that.’

‘I don’t blame you. But let’s see if we can’t change things, at least a bit. No one wants to lose your talent around here, least of all me.’

At home that evening, I was putting together pictures of flower arrangements for Lila and Ollie’s wedding.

‘Roses for a wedding, right?’ I said.

‘I guess,’ Amber said, tilting her gaze upwards as if she might find the answer on the ceiling. ‘Everyone seems to have roses.’

‘Classic, traditional.’ I pulled a few images together, with a choice of palettes, as Lila and Ollie hadn’t made a final decision on the colour-scheme yet. I’d put
together a few pretty options.

‘You seem to be really enjoying this,’ Amber said. ‘I wouldn’t have had you pegged as the wedding-y kind.’

‘I know what you mean. I guess I’ve always been a bit of a tomboy. But yes, I really am enjoying it. I mean it’s lovely to be asked – and to be part of Lila’s day.
But it also feels like something I might be good at. It’s not really a world away from set designing, after all.’

‘I guess not. You look happy.’

‘I suppose I feel like you do when you’re baking.’

‘It’s the best feeling in the world. I mean work’s OK – there are things about it I really like, and Tim’s kind of cool, as bosses go . . . but if I could bake all
day? Well, that would be heaven.’

Amber’s eyes lit up as she spoke.

‘Why don’t you?’ I suggested. ‘I mean, you’ve got the family business and everything. I bet your mum would be up for it.’

‘Going into business together?’ Amber said. She shook her head and laughed. ‘Oh, I don’t know. I love Mum to bits, but I think we’d most likely drive each other
mad. She’d be rearranging the sugar decorations and whatnot.’

‘Is she really that bad?’

‘Ha!’ Amber said. ‘Yes. I mean she’s lovely – but yes, she is that bad. She can be a real perfectionist. And while she’ll experiment to a point –
she’s still pretty traditional. Most of her customers are over sixty, so it’s not really in her interest to break with that.’

‘You could always set up on your own,’ I suggested.

‘You make it sound so easy,’ she said, with a smile. ‘But wouldn’t you rather have a flatmate who can pay the rent?’

I smiled. ‘I suppose so. Although perhaps the cakes would make up for that.’

She laughed. Then, as we fell quiet again, her gaze trailed over to the window. She’d seemed distracted these past few days, and I asked her what was up.

‘Jude called me the other day,’ Amber said, trying and failing to look like she didn’t care. ‘My ex.’

‘What did he say?’

‘Oh, that he’s sorting himself out.’ She shook her head. ‘That he made a mistake not showing me how serious he was. That he misses me.’

‘Do you believe him?’

‘Yes. I do. The thing is, I kind of always knew that he needed a wake-up call like this – that it would take me moving out for him to see what he was letting go of. But now that he
has . . .’

‘Too late? I’ve closed that door.’

Amber nodded. ‘But it’s too little, too late. I need to move on now.’

‘Do you feel ready to start dating again?’

‘I think so. I don’t know. I’m not sure I’ll ever feel more ready, if that makes sense. I guess I just need to get back on the horse, go for it. It’s not about Jude
any more, it’s not about showing him what he’s missing . . . that time’s over. It’s about finding someone who genuinely appreciates me.’

‘You will.’ I was more determined than ever to help Amber on her way.

It was early May, three months before Lila and Ollie’s summer wedding, and I’d come to Lila’s house to talk through the flowers. I’d gone for pink and
white roses. But Lila wrinkled her nose – it might have been barely perceptible to someone else, but to me it was a clear sign of her discontent. ‘It’s not that I don’t like
them,’ she said. ‘I think they’re beautiful. And very weddingy. I guess they just don’t really seem like what I pictured.’

‘And what did you picture?’ I asked.

She shook her head, and bit her lip. ‘I don’t really know. But something, I don’t know. Different from this.’

She was right to resist, of course, and it was a niggling feeling I’d been trying to push aside as I’d designed the bouquets and table arrangements. If her wedding were a theatre set
it would be perfect, I’d put it together so that all the elements worked in harmony and the final image was one that would bring both beauty and elegance to the day. But this wasn’t a
theatre set, or a film set.

This was my twin sister’s wedding, and even though I knew her inside-out, there was nothing personal about the arrangements I was suggesting.

Lila looked at me from her place on the window seat in her and Ollie’s flat, a blank, slightly disappointed expression on her face. I could read her like a book. ‘I guess I just
never really thought I’d have roses on my wedding day, that’s all.’ She shrugged, clearly as frustrated by her inability to visualise and communicate exactly what she wanted as I
was at not being able to conjure it up for her. My fear was that she would start to have regrets about delegating responsibility for her big day, that she would begin to wonder if getting me
involved had been the right thing in the first place.

‘I think I get it,’ I said. Seeing that look on her face had only made me feel more strongly that I wanted to be part of her day, and to get things right.

With a dash of reluctance, I put aside the vision that I’d carefully concocted, and that had seemed so perfectly, unapologetically, weddingy. I started to refocus on Lila – the brave
and sensitive girl and friend I’d spent so much of my life with. I thought back to Lila and how she had been as a child. Warm summer’s evenings where I’d be digging something up
in the flowerbeds near the kitchen, helping Dad to plant herbs, and Lila would be wandering through the long grass and the tangle of poppies and wildflowers at the back of Mum and Dad’s
garden, in a white cotton dress, putting letters out there for the flower fairies. She’d stayed up late the night before, writing the letters at the wooden desk in our shared room, and
I’d told her it was a waste of time.