‘I think you’re wrong.’ Picking up my cutlery, I attack Dad’s shepherd’s pie, my knife and fork clashing noisily. ‘Not everybody enjoys being squished into a crowded room with boozed-up people. Without alcohol, you can really be yourself. And you don’t have to be drunk to have fun.’
Caleb nods. ‘That’s true. But speed dating is a numbers game. The more people you date, the more likely you are to find a match.’
‘But we’re going for quality over quantity. You can’t get to know someone after a three-minute conversation. You can barely find out their name and occupation. With our dating service, you can take your time and get to know the real person without the bravado of alcohol muddying the waters.’
Caleb shrugs. ‘I’m happy to be proved wrong.’
‘And I’m happy to prove you wrong.’ I lean towards Caleb, pursing my lips. ‘In fact, I could prove you wrong sooner than you think. We’re setting up a trial date, to see if it will work, and we need ten volunteers. I’ve got the women on board but we’re struggling to find five guys to take part.’
‘He’d love to help,’ Birdie chimes in before Caleb can respond. ‘When do you need him?’
‘Tuesday evening, seven p.m.?’ I bite my lip, preparing for a no. So far we only have Tom on board (Nicky, who was more than happy to take part, insisted).
Caleb shrugs. ‘Why not? It’s not like I’ve got anything better to do.’ I’m so happy he’s actually agreed to step in, I don’t take offence. ‘Could I bring a friend?’
My momentary happiness deflates. I’d assumed he was single. ‘That’s not really how it works. You’re not supposed to bring your own date.’
‘No.’ Caleb laughs. ‘A male friend. He’s a journalist so maybe he can write an article about it and help spread the word? He’s only on a local paper rather than the nationals, but it might help.’
I can’t believe it. For a second, I’m tempted to jump out of my seat and into Caleb’s lap. But I thankfully keep a lid on my enthusiasm and remain seated. ‘That would be amazing. And a local paper is perfect as it’ll target the locals we’re hoping to entice. Oh my God.’ I cover my mouth so I don’t squeal. ‘This might actually work.’
‘How could it not?’ Birdie asks.
I’m so excited I barely touch the apple crumble I brought round. Luckily I brought enough to stretch into four portions, although mine is wasted. I can’t believe we could have an article in a newspaper about my little teashop. This is the kind of kick up the bum the teashop needs, the kind of advertisement I could never afford.
‘I’ll do the dishes,’ Caleb offers once the others have all finished their desserts.
‘And I’ll help,’ Birdie says, shushing me and Dad when we protest. ‘You both kindly provided us with a delicious meal so it’s the least we can do.’ She and Caleb collect the dishes and take them through to the kitchen, leaving Dad and I alone in the dining room. It’s been a lovely evening and not only because it’s helped to convince me that the speed dating service might actually solve my teashop woes. It’s been lovely to see Dad enjoying another woman’s company. He hasn’t asked me once how Mum is and I decide to duck out before he can slip up with his usual questions.
‘I’ll just go and see if they need a hand,’ I say, already standing. I scurry out of the room, hurrying along the hallway to the kitchen, but freeze when I hear my name.
‘Is that why you made me come?’ Caleb hisses. ‘To set me up with Maddie?’ They’ve obviously been talking about me and it has nothing to do with the teashop.
‘I just think it’s time you got back out there, dear. You’re officially single now and Maddie is a lovely girl. She’s very pretty, don’t you think?’
Caleb doesn’t answer the question and his voice is a low growl that I have to strain to hear. ‘It doesn’t matter if she’s pretty or not. I’m not interested in her so back off.’
Which is what I do. I back up the hallway, creeping along the carpet as noiselessly as I can, creeping back into the dining room where I pretend I haven’t overheard a word.
Chapter Twelve
‘So what were his exact words?’ Nicky asks between gasps. We’re ten minutes into our run and she’s out of breath already. Nicky doesn’t normally join me on my runs. It’s usually a solo activity in which I block out the sounds of life with my iPod and a specifically put-together playlist. But Nicky insisted this evening, sensing there was some gossip to sniff out.
It’s been two days since I went to Dad’s for tea – aka the set-up with Caleb that didn’t work out AT ALL. What on earth had Dad been thinking? Birdie, I can understand. She doesn’t know my history. Doesn’t know that I’ve been heartbroken and have taken myself firmly off the market so it doesn’t happen again. But Dad knows. Dad wiped away my tears and snot when I turned up at the house with a suitcase and an ache in my chest that I feared would never recede. He knows what’s it’s like. Or at least he used to until he found Birdie. Perhaps that’s it. He’s happily moved on and wants me to join him.
But I can’t.
Even if I wanted to.
‘He said, “It doesn’t matter if she’s pretty or not. I’m not interested in her”.’ It hurt, I have to admit. Even though I’m not looking for a relationship, nobody wants to hear that. I feel like an ogre. And a fool.
‘So he does fancy you then,’ Nicky pants.
‘How did you work that out when he said the complete opposite?’ I wish I’d brought my iPod along for company instead. At least my playlist makes sense.
‘He said you’re pretty.’
‘He really didn’t.’ I was there, hovering outside Dad’s kitchen as Caleb delivered the blow. At no point did he say I was pretty.
‘He said that it doesn’t matter if you’re pretty or not. Which basically means you are pretty.’ My friend is obviously suffering more from this run than I thought. She isn’t getting enough oxygen to her brain. We should stop. ‘He didn’t say, “Ugh, Nan. She’s a minger. I’m soooo not interested.” He said he isn’t interested despite you being pretty.’
‘He really didn’t.’ I swear I’m speaking a different language.
‘He did. You’re just not reading between the lines.’
‘I generally accept what people are saying at face value,’ I say but Nicky doesn’t hear me. She is no longer wheezing by my side. She’s standing still on the pavement, doubled over with her hands planted on her knees as her shoulders rise and fall at an abnormal rate. I turn and jog towards her, placing a hand on her sweaty back. ‘Are you okay?’
Nicky sucks in an audible lungful of air before releasing it with a rasp. ‘Fine. Dandy.’ Rasp in, rasp out. ‘Just having a rest. You go on.’ She wafts a hand in front of us but there’s no way I’m leaving her.
‘Come on, let’s go back to my place.’
Nicky shakes her head, gulping in air. ‘No way. You go. I’ll catch up in a minute.’
Placing my arm around Nicky’s waist, I guide her back along the path we’ve just jogged along. ‘I’ve had enough anyway. Let’s go back, open a bottle of wine and catch up with Pretty Little Liars.’
‘Will there be cake?’
‘I think I may have some lying around.’
Nicky grins, her chest still heaving and raspy. ‘This is why you’re my best friend.’
I think of Penny but don’t bring her up, deciding to be glib instead. ‘My muffins bring all the girls to the yard.’
‘And I thought I was the only one.’ Nicky flips the nozzle of her water bottle up and takes a couple of quick sips. ‘But I forgive you.’
I take a sip of my own water. ‘Would that have anything to do with the fridge full of cake back at my place?’
Nicky shrugs. ‘Maybe.’
We laugh and I link my arm through Nicky’s. Her breathing is starting to slow down and it’s already losing its rasp.
‘I don’t know why you can’t be a normal twenty-something and spend Friday night in the pub instead of this,’ she says.
; ‘You’ve seen where I work,’ I say, dodging the real reason I prefer pounding the pavements to socialising. ‘I need to do this just to break even with all those calories.’
Nicky pulls a face. ‘Ugh, the less said about those little bastards, the better. Let’s get back to Caleb. He definitely fancies you. And you fancy him.’
I almost wish she was gasping for air again. I contemplate karate-chopping her in the windpipe to replicate the effect of the run. But only for a nanosecond, and there’s no way I’d actually do it.
‘I do not fancy him.’
Nicky flicks her eyes to the cloudy sky. It’s a muggy day, which is making me sweat despite the lack of running. ‘Yeah, because I find tall, handsome men with mischievous blue eyes totally unattractive too.’
‘I didn’t say he was totally unattractive. I can see that he’s cute and many women will fancy him.’
‘But not you?’
I shake my head and take another sip of water to cool down. ‘Nope. I’m not interested and neither is he. I’m happy as I am and I’ve got a business to concentrate on.’
Nicky holds her hands up. ‘Fair enough. I’ll say no more about it.’
‘Thank you.’ I swipe at my dripping forehead with the sleeve of my T-shirt, temporarily blocking my view. I hear the sudden blast of music and laughter as the doors of a pub open in front of us but I don’t see the bodies pouring out. Luckily, Nicky tugs me out of the way before I cause a collision. I’m about to apologise to the bloke I’ve almost stampeded when I clock who it is.
Joel.
Of course it’s Joel. Why wouldn’t it be my ex when I’m wearing a pair of seen-better-days leggings and a baggy T-shirt covered in sweat? When my hair is pulled into a messy ponytail and my top lip is glistening? I haven’t seen him for over a year. Haven’t bumped into him when I’m looking and feeling great, when I’m wearing a flattering dress and killer heels. No, I bump into him when I’m at my worst and feeling rejected by a man I haven’t even made a move on. This is a look designed to fill the man with relief that we never made it down the aisle. A real ‘look what you could have won’ reveal that makes him glad he never played the game. I need a shower. And a time machine.
‘Maddie!’ I was kind of hoping Joel had suffered some sort of head trauma that made him lose his memory during our time apart and he wouldn’t recognise me. Or just the head trauma would have done. But it seems he hasn’t suffered at all. He looks good. Better than good. Certainly better than me right now. ‘How are you?’
I can’t believe he’s asked me that. How are you? HOW ARE YOU? So casual. So polite. As though he didn’t throw away our relationship – our lives – for a tart who couldn’t keep her knickers on for more than five minutes.
‘I’m good.’ Despite appearances. ‘I finally opened up my own teashop. Just like I always said I would.’ I need Joel to know this. I need him to know that he didn’t destroy my life. I need him to know I haven’t spent the past year pining for him. Loving him. Being that pathetic girl he’d seen in the doorway of our bedroom, face frozen into a Scream-like pose, unable to actually scream or shout or tell him what an absolute shit he was. The pathetic girl who had backed away, quietly and without fuss, and slotted out of his life. The girl who hadn’t fought. Not for his love, because that was unsalvageable, but for her dignity and her self-worth. I need him to know that I’m fine without him. Better than fine, even if I do look like a sweaty mess right now. This is not my usual look, I want to tell him. I’m usually looking freaking awesome. Even if that isn’t strictly true.
‘Good.’ Joel, the son of a biscuit, smiles. How dare he smile after what he did to me? To us? ‘I’m glad. I’ll have to pop in some time. You always did make the best cakes.’
‘That’d be great.’ I’ll stock up on arsenic, just in case he’s true to his word. ‘We’d better get going. Bye, Joel.’ Tightening my hold on Nicky, I power-walk us along the pavement before Joel can ask for an address. It seems having a teashop on a pretty unknown street has its benefits after all.
Nicky doesn’t say anything as we walk away. Her legs are going like the clappers to keep up but she keeps her lips still until we’re safely around the corner and I slow the pace.
‘I guess that’s the reason you’re not interested in Caleb,’ she says before I even have the chance to explain who Joel is. ‘Dashing exes can really ruin your appetite for new relationships.’
Am I really that obvious?
Fantastic.
Nicky – thankfully – keeps to her word and doesn’t say a word about Caleb over the next few days and even when he turns up on Tuesday as planned, she is friendly but professional. She doesn’t even point out how damn hot Caleb looks in his charcoal jeans and navy V-neck sweater over a white shirt.
He arrives with his reporter friend, who is looking a little more casual in skinny jeans, tight T-shirt and fedora. He completes the look with a full-on hipster beard that reveals the hair covered by his hat is a rusty ginger.
‘Maddie, this is my friend Neal Fisher,’ Caleb says. Neal holds out a hand and I shake it. It’s a good handshake: firm and warm without being sweaty. ‘Where do you need us?’
‘We’re still waiting for some of the others to arrive,’ I explain. ‘So if you’d like to grab a drink while you wait? I won’t introduce you to the others as it’ll make the whole thing a bit more authentic.’
Most of the people taking part in the cake dating trial already know each other but this is the best way I can think of testing the service before we unveil it to the paying public. As well as Caleb and Neal trialling the service, I also have Tom on board (Nicky is determined to get a date with him, one way or another), plus Owen and Little Jordan. Owen’s participation had been easy to secure:
‘How would you like an evening of free cake?’ I’d asked a few days earlier while serving The Builders.
‘I’m listening,’ Owen had replied.
‘You’d also get a date with Mags.’
‘I’m there.’
No more questions or information were needed. Keen as mustard doesn’t even come close to describing Owen’s feelings on taking part. Little Jordan had reluctantly stepped up too when it turned out Connor wouldn’t be taking part.
‘I’m married.’ He’d held up his hand to show off the gold band. ‘I’d be risking my nuts if I even thought about it.’
Mags, Victoria (Nathan understood the dates wouldn’t actually be real) and Nicky (who did think the dates were real, especially the one with Tom) had volunteered to take part and I’d asked Imogen and Zoe from Paper Roses if they’d help out and they’d agreed.
‘Are we all ready?’ I ask when everyone has arrived. Everybody has been given a sticker labelled one to five and we’ve set out little corresponding numbered cards on the tables. ‘If you sit at the table that matches your sticker, I’ll explain how it all works.’ Once everybody is seated, I hand out the scorecards, which will determine whether the participants would like to see each other again.
‘In a moment, I’ll bring out the first round of desserts and the date will begin. After fifteen minutes, I’ll ring the bell, ending the date. The ladies will remain seated while the men move over one table. So, if you’re at table number one, you’ll move to table number two. If you’ve enjoyed your date and would like to see that person again, put a tick against their number on your scorecard. Once the dates have all finished, hand your card in to me and I’ll see if there are any matches. In a real-life scenario, I’d get in touch tomorrow with contact details so you can arrange to meet again. Obviously this part is pretend so feel free to put ticks at random tonight. And don’t worry – I won’t actually be sending out details after the trial.’
I glance at Nicky, to make sure she understands. ‘Once everyone has switched seats, I’ll bring out another round of desserts and the next date will begin. This will carry on until you’ve had a date with all the participants. Are we all ready?’
I’ve already set the desserts out behind the
counter so I bring the first lot out, setting a ramekin dish filled with apple crumble and custard – the inspiration behind the cake dating – in front of each participant. Nicky is so delighted to be seated opposite Tom for round one that she almost forgets to eat her dessert. I watch her giggling and flicking her hair, her chest jutting out towards a slightly startled-looking Tom. If the table wasn’t between them, he’d be nose-deep in boobs.
At the next table, Mags and Caleb are chatting away while scooping out the apple crumble. I move my eyes quickly on, to table three where Victoria and Neal seem to be having a pleasant enough evening. Imogen is paired with Owen, who has one eye on his dessert and the other on Mags while Little Jordan can’t quite believe his luck that he’s on a date with Zoe. He’s so gobsmacked, he hasn’t uttered a single word yet.
I can’t help noticing that the group is a little … motley. There are three groups of similar ages: Victoria, Tom and Little Jordan in one group, and Nicky, Caleb, Neal and the Paper Roses girls in the other, plus Mags and Owen, who are a little older than the rest. So all together they’re a mishmash of participants that probably wouldn’t work in a real-life situation. I’ll have to put together a plan of matching potential dates somehow, especially as there’ll be so few members taking part each night. Quality over quantity, that’s my USP.
After fifteen minutes, I ring the bell and the guys all move over one table. Once I’ve set the peanut butter blondies down on the tables, the next date begins. I run my eyes over the teashop, pleased that the evening seems to be running smoothly so far. Owen is still watching an oblivious Mags from across the room while Little Jordan is now staring open-mouthed at Nicky’s chest. Round three brings not only Black Forest trifles, but it brings Owen and Mags closer together too. They’re now just one table apart, which makes Owen’s love-struck gazing easier. I’m not sure how Mags can miss how into her Owen is. Yes, he likes to have a joke around, but it’s clear he likes her beyond the banter.
‘This is so weird,’ Mags is saying to Little Jordan, not seeming to notice Owen’s watchful gaze from the next table. ‘I’m practically old enough to be your mum. How old are you?’
The Little Teashop of Broken Hearts Page 8
