Sarah spots me standing outside and gives me a grin before waving me in. “Nervous?” she asks as I step inside. I nod my head, afraid that if I open my mouth to speak, I might puke. “Don’t worry, hon. My first time I was exactly the same, but Fred’s the best. He’ll look after you.”
“Thanks, Sarah,” I respond, her happy nature putting me at ease. She grabs me a glass of water as I sit down on the sofa to wait. I am relieved that it is only a couple of minutes before Fred comes out to fetch me. As Fred guides me into the back room, I can see everything has been set up, ready for me. I take a gulp of air, but Fred just smiles at me. Suddenly a thoughtful expression crosses his face and he asks,” I meant to check yesterday that you aren’t pregnant?”
“Oh,” I say quietly. “Um, actually, I am. Just over two months. Sorry, I didn’t even think to say something yesterday.”
“Ah, well…” Fred says. “I am afraid I won’t do the tattoo, then. Sorry, Abby, it’s our policy here that we don’t tattoo pregnant ladies.” My face falls in disappointment, so Fred continues, “While there is no evidence to suggest that it would be dangerous for the baby, no one can say categorically that it is fine either. And I could never live with myself if something were to happen to any of my clients, or their little ones.”
Fred’s explanation is so heartfelt that I don’t want to argue with him. I can understand his concern, and I could kick myself for not thinking to ask. The idea of putting Bean in danger in any way, shape or form makes me shudder.
“Sorry, Fred, I should have thought to ask yesterday whether it was safe. I totally understand. I am so sorry for wasting your time, especially as I know you have clients waiting for ages and you were doing a favour for James.”
Fred looks at me for a moment and then a thoughtful expression crosses his face. “I tell you what, how about we do the design in henna? It’ll last a few weeks and is completely safe, and then you can also get used to the design. Then once you have had the baby, if you still want it done, you can come back and get it done properly.”
“Wow, that would be amazing, if you don’t mind, Fred,” I say earnestly.
“Nah, it’s all good. I sometimes do it for people if they are not completely hundred percent sure on a design. It gives them a chance to live with it for a while and decide if it’s really what they want. Fred motions to the chair, and I take a seat while he removes all the sterile equipment he had laid out. If anything, I am a little relieved at the prospect of putting off the actual tattooing for a while, and this way, it gives my scars more time to heal. And at least the henna will give me some time to live with my penguins before committing to them for the rest of my life.
I watch while Fred digs around in a cupboard, eventually bringing out a bottle of what I assume to be the henna and a hair dryer. I raise my eyebrows questioningly, and he responds by telling me it’s for drying the henna. Fred settles on his stool, and I hold out my wrists on a cushion. He consults the design for a few minutes, committing it to memory, before starting to draw freehand.
Time seems to stand still as I watch Fred work, concentration furrowing his brow. He tells me to relax and I have to force myself to unclench my fists. When at last he has finished the design, I look down at my arms and feel slightly alarmed at the smudginess of the design. Seeing my concern, he assures me that the lines will be crisp underneath. And then it is a waiting game while the henna dries.
Sarah pops in with lattes for all of us and stays while we chat. I tell them all about Cake and invite them to the opening next week, before Fred starts telling me about setting up the shop. Sarah regales us with tales of her eventful weekends with the various men in her life, and every once in a while I catch Fred giving her longing glances, making me wonder just how long he has been hiding his feelings for her.
After a while, Fred checks the henna and fills in any gaps that have appeared as the henna dried. It is such a welcome change to just be sat chilling for a while after all of the hectic madness over the last couple of weeks. When the henna has finally been cured and then scraped off, I am left with a pale orange stain. Fred assures me that it will darken overnight and tells me to rub olive oil into it every couple of hours.
I love how the design has turned out, and I already know that I will be coming back after Bean is born to make it permanent. Fred blushes as I tell him how much I love my penguins and how grateful I am for taking the time to do it. He refuses to let me pay, so I tell him to expect a delivery of cakes tomorrow, leaving both Sarah and him grinning as I walk out the door.
The Twenty-Fifth
I am just bringing through a batch of freshly baked sesame seed rolls from the kitchen when I hear a familiar voice saying my name. I look up to find Eddy, my old boss at Hudson; his wife, Meg; and their gorgeous little girl, Sophia, standing on the other side of the counter. I hand off the tray of rolls to Lorna, our Saturday girl, and rush around to give them all a hug.
“Gosh, it is so great to see you guys!” I exclaim, overjoyed at this unexpected surprise. When I left Hudson, the circumstances were far from ideal, but I never blamed Eddy for the part he played. Through the office grapevine, he heard about my move to Brighton and got in touch via email asking for my forgiveness. I explained to him that everything was between Taylor and me and that he had nothing to apologise for. Since then we have exchanged emails, and I have kept in touch with Meg via Facebook.
Sophia holds her arms to me to take her, and I grin, pleased that she remembers me. I give her a cuddle as we chat, and I catch up with their news. “Abby, this place is amazing,” Meg says, smiling widely at me.
“Did you want to come and have a look next door? We will be opening on Monday,” I ask.
“Definitely,” says Eddy. “Lead the way.” I take them on the long route through the back as the partition between the shops is only coming down tomorrow. I am so pleased when I hear their gasps of admiration, and the proud look on Eddy’s face makes me feel slightly embarrassed. I tell them about the history of the shop and show them round.
“Forget analytics, Abby, this is what you were meant for. What you have achieved is brilliant!” Eddy exclaims.
“Well, I couldn’t have done it without Taylor and my parents, plus my fantastic staff,” I say quietly. We chat some more until Meg realises the time and explains that they are going to be late for their visit with her parents if they don’t get a move on. We head back into the bakery, and I grab a selection of cake slices and muffins to take with them, ignoring their protests when I refuse to let them pay. With a final hug they head off, and I make a silent promise to myself not to leave it so long before seeing them again.
The rest of the day flies by in a whirl of activity, and by the time five o’clock rolls by, we are all dead on our feet. I call everyone into Cake for an impromptu staff meeting. No one apart from Bea and Andreas has seen the completed café, and I grin when everyone exclaims over the changes. I give everyone a chance to have a wander round and have a proper look, watching their faces with enjoyment. I am startled when I look over at Anna and see her glowering, but the moment she sees me watching her, her expression smoothes out and she gives me a small wave. An unsettled feeling washes over me, but I quash it, telling myself to stop being silly.
As we sit down with our mugs of tea and plateful of fresh cookies, I run over the schedule for the coming week. Both Billy and Kirri will be in tomorrow, baking to their heart’s content, so we run through the list of things we need. Bea reminds me that Emma, our new barista, is coming in tomorrow for training, and I remind everyone that the partition will be coming down and that Annabeth will also be in.
“I just wanted to say a big thank-you to everyone for all their hard work. I am so excited that we are finally here, but I want you to know that it wouldn’t have happened if it weren’t for all of you,” I say with absolute sincerity. “The next couple of weeks are going to be hectic as I am sure there are going to be teething problems, but I know that if we work as a team, we will get through i
t and finally get some sleep,” I joke. Everyone chuckles and I feel a warm glow as I look at these people who I now consider to be part of my family.
I glance at my watch and, seeing the time, tell everyone to skedaddle and head home. Andreas and Bea wait for everyone else to leave before giving me hugs of their own. Bea speaks up first. “Abby, we are so proud of you, darling. You have grown up so much in the last few months. Your Nonna would be so proud of what you have achieved. I think this is more than she could have ever imagined.”
“Definitely,” Andreas chimes in. “When she bought the bakery from my dad, she just wanted to give you a chance to do what you loved. But you have done that and so much more…” Andreas trails off.
“Well, I wouldn’t have been able to do any of this without your help and guidance, so for that, thank you from the bottom of my heart.” I surreptitiously wipe away the tears that have gathered in my eyes and are threatening to roll down my face.
Andreas and Bea both give me a grin before heading off, insisting that they will both be in first thing in the morning to help with preparations, even though I tell them that there is no need to.
.........................
My evening has mostly consisted of vegging out on the sofa, watching my Twilight box set for like the hundredth time. Despite my attempts at relaxation, something is niggling at my subconscious. I pull out the picture Henry gave me featuring Hannah, and I stare at it as I have been doing intermittently for the last couple of days.
The image shows both Taylor and Hannah, and I can see that it is a selfie from the slightly downward angle of the shot. Both of them are grinning into the camera, and I can’t quite get over how young Taylor looks against the backdrop of the jungle. Hannah has her hair covered by a bandanna, but I can see tendrils of dark brown hair escaping. Her eyes are a startling blue framed with dark lashes, her nose a cute button and her mouth a perfect cupid’s bow. I realise with a start that I am jealous; Hannah is beautiful, and I can see exactly why Taylor was in love with her. To think that this innocent-looking girl might be the one behind the blog just doesn’t seem right.
With a sigh, I flick off the TV and head off to bed, knowing that I definitely need some beauty sleep. The long hours and pregnancy have made me push my body harder than it has ever worked before.
The Twenty-Sixth
Annabeth stands back to admire her handiwork, and I can’t help but clap my hands like a kid. With the addition of each work of art, the walls have come to life, the different shades of grey providing the perfect foil for the bright drawings and paintings. Next to each frame is a white card with the name of the artist and title of the artwork, along with a brief description and a price.
The partition between the shops is now down, and James’s guys are cleaning up the mess they made. Both the bakery and café are filled with the delicious aroma of cookies that has wafted through from the kitchen. Mum has been running around like a headless chicken all day, moving things from one place to another and then back to their original position, and it is driving me nuts. “Mum, stop,” I command. “It all looks amazing. Plus once people have been through here, we are going to have to tidy it all up again anyway.” Mum lets out a soft grumble about just wanting to make it perfect, but I know she realises that I am right.
I check my list for the hundredth time today as I see what still has to be done and do a double take when I see that every item has now been ticked off. Surely not? We can’t be done, I think to myself. But when I stop to look around properly, I can see that we are pretty much there.
The large mason jars on the counter are now filled with different types of cookies. A couple of the cake stands hold vanilla and chocolate cupcakes with a variety of brightly coloured icings. The remainder of the cake stands hold a lemon and poppy seed, red velvet, double chocolate and Victoria sponge apiece. The large fridge is filled with all manner of goodies; individual lemon meringue tarts sit beside chocolate brownies and treacle tarts and much more.
Emma, our new barista, has proved to be a dab hand at our coffee machine, and we are all slightly jittery at the amount of caffeine we have consumed as a result of her ‘practising’. Bea and Andreas have penned descriptions for every single confection, which has resulted in much laughter from all of us as they bickered about how to phrase certain things.
I realised in the morning that although we have Emma manning the ‘Beast’, as we have named our coffee machine, we don’t have anyone to clear the tables or help when it is busy. When I voiced my concerns, Bea immediately called her sister, and twenty minutes later her niece, Alison, was walking through the door for a trial. I am beginning to feel that Bea is somehow some kind of matriarch in Brighton; she has managed to provide our web designer, our builder, our sign maker and now extra staff. We truly are a ‘family’ business.
I am grateful that Alison immediately clicks with Emma, and I can already see that they have a great dynamic going on. I take Alison to one side when there is a spare moment and offer her the job. She has dropped out of uni because the course just wasn’t right for her and is now saving to go back in September to start afresh, so this works out perfectly all round.
It is only four o’clock, but it already dark and I am just about to send everyone home when my dad walks in carrying a couple of bottles of champagne. “A celebration!” he declares when I raise my eyebrows at him. “Everyone here has worked so hard I think we need some champers to toast the opening of the café.” Everyone cheers and gathers around one of the tables, where miraculously a tray of champagne glasses has appeared. I glance over at Mum, and she gives me a wink and a smile. With a proven expertise, Dad opens the bottles and pours out the champagne without spilling a drop. When everyone has a glass in hand, Dad holds his into the air. “To Abby, without whose vision Cake would not exist, and to all of you, who have helped make her dream a reality. And here’s to Bread & Cake!”
“To Bread & Cake!” we all chime in, and clink our glasses in unison. With everything finally complete, everyone mulls around, chatting away and getting to know each other better. I find myself standing back and just taking it all in.
“Happy thoughts, sweetheart?” Dad asks softly in my ear.
I start, having not noticed his approach. “Yup, very happy thoughts. Thanks, Dad, for everything.”
“You are welcome, Abby,” Dad says, putting his arm around me and giving me a squeeze.
The Twenty-Seventh
It is eight o’clock and we have officially opened Cake. Bread opened as normal at seven, but we left the rope barrier up to give Emma and Alison some extra time to get set up after there was a bit of a mix-up with the milk delivery this morning. I have no sooner unlocked the door than Fred and Sarah come walking in, demanding coffee. I laugh and introduce them both to Emma and Alison before giving them the grand tour I promised when I dropped off their cakes on Saturday. Their response is gratifying, and as they walk out with their lattes, they promise to spread the word.
The rest of the morning is much the same, with our bakery regulars popping in to check out the café after they have bought their bread. Slowly, though, the café fills with new faces, and by late afternoon I think it is safe to declare our opening a success. As I help out where needed in both the café and bakery, ensuring that everyone gets their breaks, I watch with delight as people scarf down their cakes.
The compliments that come back are glowing, and I make sure to tell Kirri and Billy just how popular their cakes have been. Both glow with pride before carrying on with their tasks in hand; for every cake eaten, a new one has to be made to take its place, and I am determined that while we will have a core of staples that everyone likes, we will make sure there is always a range of new cakes and desserts to try.
By the end of the day, I am exhausted and pale. I think adrenaline has been keeping me going over the last couple of weeks, and now that we are finally open, my body is now complaining. I ache all over and all I really want is a long hot soak in the bath, but given t
he last time I had a major freak-out and the time before that I tried to commit suicide, it is probably not the best idea, especially as I am all by myself. Instead, I take a long hot shower in an attempt to relieve the tension in my neck, enjoying the pounding sensation as the water hits me.
Feeling too lazy to cook, I pull out my faithful Thai takeout menu and ring through my order for one. While I wait for my food to arrive, I spend my time checking my emails and Facebook before uploading some pictures of our first day on the new page that I created. I see that people have already started leaving comments, and I make sure I respond to all of them.
The ringing of my buzzer interrupts me, and I quickly throw on my dressing gown to get my food. The guy gives me a look when he sees me in my pyjamas at only six in the evening, but, hey, I am sure he sees stranger things. My crispy duck with tamarind sauce on top of mixed greens is delicious, and I wolf it down as if I haven’t eaten all day. And then I remember that, actually, I have been so busy I haven’t eaten since breakfast time.
An email suddenly pings, and I smile when I see that Michelle is going to make it to the opening party and that she is bringing someone. I really hope that maybe this might be someone special; Michelle deserves to be happy and to find someone who appreciates her for being the amazing person she is, instead of these losers she keeps meeting.
Without really thinking about it, my fingers seem to move of their own accord and suddenly the Sugar & Spice blog is staring at me. I have been trying to put off looking at it, knowing that it will not show me anything good, but I guess my subconscious is proving to be more powerful. I steel myself for what I might find. A part of me is screaming at me to shut the page down, while another part is whispering that I need to get a better idea of who I am up against; know your enemy and all that.
Book Two: Thirty Days, Book 2 Page 15
