‘Nineteen,’ Little Jordan replies, which has Mags dropping her face into her hands.
‘Oh God. I am old enough to be your mum. I have a twenty-year-old son.’
‘If it helps, my mum’s a lot older than you,’ Little Jordan says and Mags’s face breaks out into a huge grin.
‘That does help. A lot.’
I signal the end of the date with the bell and bring out a round of raspberry cream cheese brownies. Owen finally moves over to Mags’s table and his face resembles a kid’s on Christmas morning. I hover nearby to tune into their date but I barely get to hear a word over the din of Nicky’s latest date. Caleb’s friend is sitting opposite, an elaborate eye-roll taking place as Nicky erupts. I have no idea what they’ve disagreed over but Nicky calls Neal a prick before folding her arms across her chest and spending the next fourteen minutes and thirty-three seconds giving him a cold stare. The exchange puts everyone on edge and so Owen’s long anticipated date doesn’t go quite as well as he’d hoped.
I serve mini American-style cheesecakes for the final round. It’s Little Jordan’s favourite dessert from the teashop but he doesn’t even glance down at the cake as he’s mesmerised by the girl in front of him. I have no doubts whatsoever that Imogen will be on the receiving end of a giant tick tonight.
Chapter Thirteen
‘So what made you think of putting cake and speed dating together?’ Neal asks. Most of those trialling the cake dating have gone home and Neal is interviewing me for the piece he’s promised to write for the newspaper. I’m beyond thrilled that we’re going to get such fabulous publicity – and for free.
‘I’ve seen how cake can bring people together, how happy it can make them, and I want to spread that joy.’ I don’t mention Dad or Birdie’s fledgling romance (Dad would kill me, slowly and painfully, if it ended up in the paper) or the fact that I’m desperate for customers and will try almost anything to entice them into the teashop.
‘What makes your speed dating service different to any other speed dating service? Apart from the cake, obviously.’
‘We’re hoping to create quality dates, rather than quick, meaningless dates, but retain the fun factor of meeting several potential matches each night.’ I find my hands are flying all over the place as I talk, so I clasp them together tightly on my lap. ‘There are fewer potential matches, but each date is slightly longer than your average speed date, giving each couple a bit more breathing space to be themselves and find out a little bit more about each other. We feel fifteen minutes is long enough for an initial meeting, to gauge whether meeting for a second date would be worthwhile, but not too long if it turns out a second date isn’t on the cards.’
I feel I’m starting to waffle, so I take a deep, slightly shaky breath before continuing. ‘We have an intimate setting here, with a set-up that may seem more formal, but it’ll still be fun and – fingers crossed – the perfect setting for romance.’
Do I sound like an idiot? Is any of this making any sense outside my own brain? I unclasp my clammy hands and reach for my drink on the table. My eyes are drawn to the Dictaphone Neal has set to record and I find it hard to swallow.
‘As there are so few participants for each session,’ I continue, eyes darting again to the Dictaphone, ‘we have to be more careful with the groups of people we put together, so there’ll be a questionnaire to fill out with each application form, so we can try to match like-minded people and therefore give the best possible chance for matches.’
‘And when are you planning to run the speed dating evenings?’ As well as the Dictaphone recording the interview, Neal has pulled a notepad from a battered satchel to scribble down the details as I relate them: time and dates, what people can expect from the evening, prices. There didn’t seem to be any major snags during the trial run so I’m eager to get going and put Sweet Street on the map.
‘That’s great.’ Neal closes his notepad and slips his pen through the spiral binding. ‘Do you think I could get a photo to go with the piece? Perhaps stage a date? I should have taken a couple of photos earlier but it slipped my mind. I was too busy enjoying the dates – and your cakes, of course.’ Neal is already reaching into his satchel again and he pulls a camera out. Nicky, who has been chatting with Caleb at the other end of the teashop during the interview, steps towards us.
‘I’ll do it.’ She twirls a brown curl around one finger. ‘I’ve always wanted to be a model.’
‘You’ll be perfect for the job,’ Neal says. The hostility from earlier, it seems, has vanished quicker than tonight’s desserts. ‘We’ll need a date for you.’ Neal, who has been fiddling with the settings of his camera, looks up and flashes a grin at his friend. ‘Caleb? Would you like to do the honours?’
There are only the four of us left in the teashop, and as Neal can’t be in two places at once, Caleb doesn’t have much choice. He shrugs and joins Nicky at table one. I’ll need to rustle up a dessert to make it authentic, but luckily there are two peanut butter blondies left over so I pop them onto plates and Neal makes sure they’re in the ideal place for the shot.
‘Look like you’re having the best night of your lives,’ he instructs while viewing them through the digital screen.
‘I’ve got too many clothes on for that,’ Nicky says, which makes Caleb laugh. Nicky joins in and Neal snaps the perfect shot.
‘I’ll write this up and pass it on to my editor,’ Neal says once he’s packed his things away in his satchel. ‘I’ll let you know if and when they’re going to run it.’
‘Do you think they’ll say no?’ I shouldn’t have got my hopes up as they’re now being dashed into a million pieces.
Neal shrugs and slings his satchel over his shoulder. ‘I’ll do my best for you.’
‘Thank you. I really appreciate you coming over.’ I walk to the door with Neal and Caleb, locking the door once I’ve waved goodbye. It’s dark outside now and my body is aching for sleep but I have to clean up the teashop before I can even think of going up to the flat.
‘I think I’m in love,’ Nicky says as I start to gather the stray plates from the tables.
‘I know. I thought you were going to swoon when he sat at your table.’ I stack the plates and carry them through to the kitchen, with Nicky following.
‘Was it that obvious?’
I dump the plates by the sink and turn on the hot tap. ‘You’ve been banging on about him for the past couple of weeks.’ I test the water before squirting washing-up liquid into the bowl and filling it with hot, soapy water.
‘You think I’m talking about Tom?’ she asks as though I’ve just suggested she fancies Sloth from The Goonies.
‘Aren’t you?’ I slide the plates into the water and, leaving them to soak, grab a cloth and the cleaning spray.
‘No.’ Nicky, following as I make my way out to the teashop, sighs dreamily and for an awful moment I think she’s talking about Caleb. I saw the way they laughed together while posing for Neal. And they had chatted at the party while Victoria painted Cara’s face. At the time I’d worried Nicky may have been talking about me, talking me up or – worse – hinting that I may have a crush on him. But what if they’d been flirting? What if the reason Caleb was so against his grandmother setting us up was because he’d already found the ideal woman?
I clutch my stomach as a feeling of nausea washes over me. What if Caleb isn’t interested in me but he is interested in my friend?
You may think I’m being overdramatic – and perhaps you’re right – but this isn’t really about Caleb or Nicky. It’s about the memories being dredged up. Memories of standing in my bedroom doorway and seeing my fiancé with my best friend. I couldn’t see her face to begin with, but there was no mistaking that halo of orange fuzz on my pillow and my stupid body remained frozen on the threshold long enough to hear Penny’s anguished cry as she spotted me.
I stayed long enough to see her face appear, eyes and mouth grotesquely wide like a human gargoyle, but luckily my body had decided to ho
tfoot it out of there before either of them attempted to explain. There wasn’t an explanation for what they had done. Nothing that would repair the gaping hole the image of them together had left in my chest.
‘So who’s the lucky man then?’ I manage to squeak as I spray one of the tables liberally and swipe my cloth across it. Nicky sighs again and melts onto a chair, resting her chin on her hand, her elbow sitting on the table I’m trying to clean.
‘It’s Neal.’
I straighten, the cloth hanging limply in my hand. ‘Neal? But you argued thirty seconds after meeting. You called him a prick.’
Nicky giggles. ‘I know.’
‘And you ignored him for the rest of the date.’
Nicky nods, a smile creeping across her face. ‘It was so hot.’
Hot?
Seriously?
‘Did he give me a tick?’ Nicky asks as I resume my table-cleaning. The cards are behind the counter but I haven’t had a look at them yet.
‘You know they’re not accurate, don’t you?’ The chances of Neal placing a tick next to the woman who labelled him a prick after less than a minute aren’t very high and I don’t want to hurt Nicky’s feelings. ‘It was just a trial to see if the format would work. You weren’t putting a tick against the people you actually want to see again.’
‘I was!’ Nicky is out of her seat and rummaging behind the counter before I have the chance to dump my cleaning stuff. She has the scorecards in her hands by the time I join her and I can tell by her crestfallen little face that there isn’t a tick from Neal. ‘Victoria and Imogen! He ticked Victoria and Imogen and not me.’
I take the cards from her hands and guide her back to the table. ‘It wasn’t real, remember? It wasn’t an actual date. We were just running through the evening so we could see if the idea will work in practice.’
‘But I gave him a tick.’ Nicky’s voice is so small I can barely hear her.
‘I know.’ The cards are on the table in front of us, the little pile spilled to reveal Nicky’s ticks. There are two of them: one for Tom and one for Neal.
‘Let’s go up to the flat,’ I say. ‘I’ve got some of my cherry ice cream in the freezer and we’ll open a bottle of wine.’
My body is giving an internal protest. It wants nothing more than to trudge up the stairs and climb into bed, but Nicky is my friend and she’s upset. I know being rejected by Neal isn’t comparable to the breakdown of my relationship – and the subsequent cancelling of the wedding – but I could have really done with a friend when Joel betrayed me. With my best friend being equally as responsible for the betrayal, I’d felt lost and alone and I’d hate for anyone to feel even a smidgen of what I went through. I know I’ll have to get up extra early in the morning to finish the cleaning, but it’ll be worth it.
‘Come on.’ I hold my hand out and Nicky takes it. I guide her out of the back of the teashop, switching off lights as I go, and out into the little yard at the back. The entrance leading up to the flat is next to the teashop’s rear exit, which isn’t a bad commute. I lead Nicky up the stairs, kicking off my shoes as soon as we’re inside my flat. Nicky grabs the bottle of wine from the fridge, taking care of the corkscrew and glasses while I dig the ice cream out of the freezer. I don’t bother with bowls; the tub and a couple of spoons will suffice.
‘Tell me about the guy,’ Nicky says as I tuck my feet underneath me on the sofa.
‘What guy?’ I know which guy she’s talking about, but I’m stalling for time so I can conjure a reason to swerve the Joel explanation.
‘The guy outside the pub. Your ex.’ Nicky scoops a spoonful of ice cream from the tub between us and pops it into her mouth. Making my own ice cream can be a bit of a faff, but it’s worth it in the end, especially as I can play around with ingredients and create my own flavours.
‘Oh. Him.’ I shovel a mouthful of ice cream into my gob, wincing at the giant blob of cold against my teeth. I’ve purposefully shoved too much in my mouth as another delay tactic, but Nicky is waiting patiently for my reply. ‘His name’s Joel. We were supposed to get married.’
It’s oddly liberating saying the words. I haven’t told anybody new about Joel and the wedding-that-never-was and I rarely speak about it with Mum and Dad, so it’s been festering inside for the past year, growing more and more repugnant. Putting it out there doesn’t remove it or cause the hurt to vanish, but I seem to find some strength from the words. I have spoken them, revealed this awful thing that happened to me, and I haven’t fallen to pieces.
‘You were engaged?’ The ice cream on Nicky’s spoon is forgotten as she gapes at me.
‘Yes.’ I lift the forgotten spoon towards Nicky’s cavernous mouth until she closes her lips around it. ‘Until I found out he was cheating on me, three weeks before the wedding.’
‘Moh. Ma. Gog,’ Nicky says around the ice cream clogging her mouth. ‘Ho weff?’
Do I tell her about Penny? Do I admit that I not only chose the wrong man, I chose the wrong girl too? That my judgement is so off, I surrounded myself with disloyal people and allowed them to trample all over my heart?
‘My best friend.’ I’ve started, so I may as well finish. ‘Obviously she is no longer my bestie.’
Nicky swallows the ice cream. ‘The bastards.’ Nicky’s eyebrows are low, half sympathetic, half mad as hell. ‘How could they do that to you? You’re the nicest person I’ve ever met.’
‘That’s because you surround yourself with cruel men,’ I point out, scooping more ice cream from the tub. After my confession, I’m in need of a sugar hit. The wine sitting on the table is looking pretty enticing right about now too. ‘Anybody even remotely nice is a saint by comparison.’
‘True, but you seriously didn’t deserve that, hun.’
‘Does anybody?’ I ask.
‘That bitch of an ex-best friend does. And him. Ugh.’ Nicky stabs her spoon into the tub. ‘To think I was standing right next to him. I’d have given him a swift kick to the balls if I’d have known.’
‘We can go back tomorrow and see if we can find him if you’d like,’ I say, cheered by the thought of Joel bent double, clutching his most prized possessions. I know we won’t though. Seeking out Joel – even for painful revenge – would mean taking a giant step back. I’ve moved on with my life, even if I’m only just realising it now. I have a business to run and new friends. I need to stop dwelling on Joel and Penny and concentrate on the joyful things in life. Starting with that glass of wine begging for my attention.
After we finished both the bottle of wine and the cherry ice cream last night, Nicky ended up falling asleep on my sofa so we’re both in a mad rush when my alarm clock pipes up just before five. Nicky has to get home to shower and change in time for her first clients of the day while I have a long list of baking and cleaning duties in case anybody turns up for breakfast. I’ve only managed to bake a batch of croissants with a tray of cinnamon buns halfway through their baking time in the oven when Victoria arrives. She can’t help with the food prep but she does roll her sleeves up and cleans while I make a start on the chunky chocolate cookies I have planned for one of today’s specials. The chunky chocolate cookies are far superior to their chocolate chip kin as I use slabs of chocolate, bashed with a rolling pin to create the chunks, instead of puny chips.
‘Have you heard from Terry yet?’ I ask as Victoria makes a start on the plates left over from the trial cake dating run last night. The manager has been dragging his feet, neither giving the thumbs up or down to Victoria and the band. It must be incredibly frustrating for them.
‘Nope. Not a whisper.’ She attacks the plates with a little more gusto than is strictly required since they’ve been left soaking in the sink overnight. ‘I said we should get in touch and give him a prod but Nathan says we should be patient, that he might say no just to shut us up if we make a fuss.’
‘It’s not fair to keep you hanging like this though.’ It must be like sitting on the cusp of a roller coaster’s drop waiting for
the news, stomachs churning in anticipation and fear. ‘Hopefully you’ll hear back soon. I’ve got everything crossed for you.’
A couple of early morning customers trickle through the door, including Robbie who sits by the window with his usual banana milkshake, but Victoria is able to cope so I spend the next hour in the kitchen. The teashop is still pretty quiet by the time I’m finished so I take the cake dating scorecards into the office with a cup of tea and a fresh, gooey chunky chocolate cookie. There are five matches, the most interesting one of which is Mags and Owen. Although the evening was a trial run and my volunteers didn’t have to mark the cards as they would in a real dating situation, I’m still excited to see the corresponding ticks on their cards. Especially as neither has placed a tick against any other name.
Very interesting.
I pull my phone out of my apron pocket and send a message to Mags, letting her know she has a match (I should test this part of the service too, after all), passing on Owen’s contact details should she wish to arrange a follow-up date with him. My phone soon beeps with a message of my own:
You didn’t send one of these to Owen did you???
I giggle to myself as I tap out a reply.
No, but I can if you want me to … xx
My phone remains silent so I focus on the scorecards. Victoria has placed a tick next to every name and has earned two of her own – one from Little Jordan (who gave everyone except Mags an enthusiastically oversized tick) and Neal. There are two more matches, both for Imogen: another from Neal and one from Tom. Caleb, I notice, hasn’t placed a tick against any of the names. It seems it isn’t only me he isn’t interested in, which offers a little bit of comfort, even though this isn’t a real-life situation.
My phone beeps as I’m storing the scorecards in the bureau and my mouth spreads into a triumphant toothy grin as I read the message from Mags.
Go on then. If he gets in touch, I’ll know it hasn’t just been banter all along.
The Little Teashop of Broken Hearts Page 9
