Christmas At The Cupcake Cafe

by Jenny Colgan

  He asked this every day. Issy often reflected that it did slightly ameliorate the effect of getting endless and ever-higher electricity bills when they were delivered by a cheerful four-year-old wearing a hat shaped like a dinosaur.

  ‘Well, as a matter of fact, I do,’ said Doti. ‘You know how normally you have to do a special delivery to Auntie Issy?’

  Louis nodded.

  ‘Well, today it isn’t for Issy. Today it’s just for you.’

  Louis’ eyes went wide.

  ‘And you won’t BELIEVE who it’s from.’

  Pearl was as surprised as Louis when Doti handed him an envelope covered in snowflakes and addressed Louis Kmbota McGregor, c/o the Cupcake Café.

  Doti winked at her. ‘The post office does it every year,’ he whispered. ‘I thought he might like one.’

  Louis, who could recognise his own name printed in gold, was turning the envelope over and over like it was the most precious object he’d ever seen.

  ‘Mummy!’ he breathed.

  ‘Are you going to open it?’ said Pearl.

  Louis shook his head. ‘NO.’

  ‘Who do you think it’s from?’ said Doti.

  Louis held it away from him, still with a wondering look in his eye.

  ‘Is it … is it from Santa?’

  Doti took the envelope. ‘See this,’ he said, pointing. ‘This is a postmark. Remember I showed you before? It tells you where the letter was posted and what date.’

  Louis nodded.

  ‘Well, this postmark says … the North Pole.’

  ‘THE NORTH POLE?’

  ‘Yup!’

  ‘MUMMY! I’ve got a letter from Santa! At the NORTH POLE!’

  ‘That’s lovely,’ said Pearl, mouthing a thank-you to Doti. ‘Come on, darling, let’s open it.’

  Louis shook his head again and put the card behind his back.

  ‘I can’t,’ he said. ‘Too preshis.’

  ‘Why is it too precious?’ asked Maya.

  Louis shrugged and kicked his foot against the counter, even though Pearl was always telling him not to.

  ‘Monster garage,’ he whispered. ‘Santa might say I can’t have a monster garage. Even though I did not do naughty behaviour and I did not have to sit on the rug. Like Evan and Gianni and Felix and Mohammed A but not me.’

  Pearl bit her lip. That damn monster garage. Ever since he’d seen the advert, he’d been on about it. It was a garage that fixed monster trucks; big trucks, with big monsters inside. But every single monster cost a lot of money, and every single truck was sold separately and they cost money too, and the basic garage itself even before you bought a single monster or truck was well over a hundred pounds, and anyway they didn’t have room to store it even if they got the damn thing, which she couldn’t afford in a million years because she was going to have to buy Louis new trainers, as he’d grown out of the old ones and they were horribly shabby, and he needed a proper winter coat, and new pyjamas and loads and loads of basic stuff that probably other kids just got when they needed it and not at a special time of year, but that was just how it was.

  And it hadn’t helped that Benjamin had seen him looking longingly at the advert and said, without even thinking, of course you’re going to have a monster garage; no son of mine is going without. They’d had a furious argument outside about it when he’d gone for a cigarette – which by the way also cost a fortune they couldn’t afford – especially when he’d said, stubbornly, that he would get the fucking garage for his son and she could see by the glint in his eye not to argue, which just made her worry and panic even more because she hated to think what lengths he might go to to get it.

  And every time Louis had mentioned hopefully about the monster garage and asked leading questions about whether Santa would bring him one on his sleigh or whether it would be too heavy and perhaps he would send some real monsters to carry it, or maybe a special dinosaur, she had hummed non-committally, and prayed for his little four-year-old head to latch on to something else.

  So far, it hadn’t. She hated Christmas.

  ‘Well,’ said Doti, ‘when I went to empty Santa’s letter box, he did say that he had heard that there was a particularly well-behaved boy in N17, so I think he’ll probably try his hardest. And now we must be heading back to the depot.’

  Doti and Maya departed together, chatting head to head like a couple of teenagers.

  Pearl let Louis have a mince pie. Then she ate two more herself, crossly.

  Kelly-Lee had let Austin sleep until closing time – he was sweet, it wasn’t like he was a tramp or anything, although he did appear to be wearing odd socks, but perhaps that was some of that fabled charming English eccentricity she’d heard so much about. But finally it was seven o’clock, pitch dark outside, Hussein and Flavia had already gone and it was time to shut up shop.

  ‘C’mon, Hugh Grant,’ she said gently. He looked nice asleep; he didn’t snore or dribble or fart, like that fat little TV producer she’d dated in the fall, who’d come round, eat all her food and then try and get in her pants – she wasn’t that dumb, plus she’d felt his little dick prodding up against her thigh when they’d been making out, and frankly she’d lost interest pretty sharply after that. It didn’t stop him talking almost constantly about how many beautiful actresses hit on him every time he stepped out of his condo, and dangling hints about her maybe working in the studio one day. She sighed. She bet this guy wouldn’t do that. Kelly-Lee put on her perkiest smile.

  ‘Hello, hello?’

  Austin blinked. He felt awful. All he wanted to do was crawl under his duvet and sleep for a day and a half. For a second he couldn’t figure out where he was. He pulled out his phone; the little red BlackBerry light was blinking at him ferociously. He had nine new emails and six new voicemails. The first was from the bank head in London.

  ‘I don’t know what you’ve done to the Yanks,’ it started. ‘Maybe they like staff with hair like an unmade bed. Anyway, they want to make you an offer. Get in touch.’

  The next two were from his PA, Janet, insisting he call her as soon as possible. And there was one from Merv, saying how much they were looking forward to having him aboard …

  Austin clutched the side of the sofa. This was going very fast. Much too fast. Half of him was excited by the rush of being in demand; half of him was petrified.

  ‘Good news?’ said Kelly-Lee, watching him stare at the BlackBerry screen in consternation and run his fingers through his lovely thick hair, all tufted up like a small boy’s. Austin blinked several times.

  ‘I … I’ve just been offered a job. I think.’

  Kelly-Lee’s eyebrows went even higher.

  ‘Boy, that’s great! Congratulations! That means we’ll be seeing you again!’

  ‘Yes, well … wow. I suppose.’

  ‘That’s brilliant.’

  Kelly-Lee selected the largest of the day’s leftover cupcakes – an enormous red velvet – and swiftly put it in a little box, which she tied up expertly with bright bows.

  ‘Here you are,’ she said. ‘Congratulations. And welcome to New York.’

  ‘I thought New Yorkers were supposed to be unfriendly,’ said Austin.

  ‘Well, you’re about to discover that just ain’t so,’ said Kelly-Lee.

  Austin shrugged on his heavy greatcoat and long scarf.

  ‘Well, goodbye,’ he said.

  ‘See you again soon,’ said Kelly-Lee, and flashed him her enormous smile.

  Outside, the snow was horizontal and blowing into his face. He hurried along looking for a cab. New York in the snow was a lot more picturesque in the photos. In reality it was utterly bloody freezing, far colder than he’d ever felt in London. He found a yellow taxi and ordered it to take him to his hotel, then fumbled in his pocket for his phone again and made a resolution to buy a pair of gloves. That was odd, nothing from Darny and Iss. He checked his watch; what was the time difference again? Anyway, it didn’t matter. This was news! Big news! A big job. Oh
my goodness, a big job.

  Austin had never meant to be a banker. He’d never really thought of doing anything much. When his parents had died in a car crash, he had been ambling gently through a degree in marine biology, after enjoying many diving holidays with his mum and dad before the extremely late and surprising new baby had come along after a silver wedding anniversary party went a bit crazy.

  In the hideous blur that followed the accident, his little brother was bombarded on all sides by well-meaning aunties, social services, distant cousins, friends of his parents he’d never met. Austin had had to grow up extremely quickly, cut his surfer hair (for the best, he thought now when he saw old photos), leave university and find a job that would allow him to take over his parents’ unexpired mortgage on their little terraced house in Stoke Newington.

  It hadn’t been easy convincing everyone that they were fine the way they were, with or without the fifteen shepherd’s pies that arrived every morning on their doorstep unsolicited. As long as Austin kept the front room and the hallway reasonably tidy, he’d found, and the upstairs windows open to circulate any boy smell, they got by all right. But it had been a struggle. A long road.

  By the time he’d discovered he had an aptitude for his job, he was already caught up in getting Darny to school and running the house (badly) and getting to work on time, and before he knew it, he had become one of those working mothers at school who were always dashing in late with the wrong PE kit and never contributed to the Christmas fete. Except those mothers weren’t particularly friendly towards him because all the stay-at-home mothers would cover for Austin and bake him Christmas cakes and have Darny round to sleepovers to give him some time to himself, whilst simultaneously sneering at or pitying the working mothers, which made the working mothers furious.

  But Darny was older now, grown up enough to at least remember to brush his own hair once in a while, even though he’d rather not, and turn on the washing machine (turning it on was rarely the problem; removing the clothes when they were finished instead of leaving them there to stew was the main stumbling block at the moment), and now Issy was there too, and maybe it was, kind of, time for Austin to do something with his life, or rather something with his life that he himself had chosen.

  He wouldn’t have changed one thing about his life with Darny, not one thing, he told himself fiercely. That was the hand he had been dealt, and he’d played it. He loved his brother so much. But this was beyond his wildest dreams … a big job in New York … a cool apartment, maybe? Darny could go to school here. And Issy …

  He needed to talk to Issy.

  ‘Hello?’

  The voice was trying to be friendly, but struggling. By the time Issy had risen at six to start baking, worked a full day in the shop, cashed up and done the accounts, helped Darny with his homework and cooked supper, there wasn’t much left of her. She went to bed very early.

  ‘Iss?’ said Austin. ‘Iss, you won’t believe this. It’s amazing. This huge bank. They want me! They want me to work for them! They’re offering … well I don’t know what they’re offering but it seems like they really want me, and, I mean, well, obviously I haven’t said anything, but, I mean, they have been talking about sending me overseas for a while, and well. Anyway.’

  He was conscious Issy wasn’t saying anything.

  ‘Anyway. I just thought I should let you know what is going on. Kind of thing.’

  Issy had been half asleep when she’d answered the phone. She was wide awake now. And she realised that on some level she had always expected something like this to happen. Who wouldn’t want Austin? She did. Things were always too good to be true.

  She suddenly wished Helena was here. Helena would tell her, ferociously, to buck up, that she was more than good enough for Austin, thank you, and that her stupid mind would talk her out of anything, which was how she had ended up with a loser like Graeme, and she didn’t want that again, did she?

  She did not.

  But Helena wasn’t here. She would be walking Chadani up and down the flat (Chadani was too sensitive to sleep well; it was a sign of hyper-intelligence), and there was only Darny, snoring loudly next door, a dark house with new, unhung curtains and, on the other end of the line, four thousand miles away, sounding happy and carefree and light, the only man she’d ever truly loved, telling her he was never coming home.

  ‘Congratulations,’ Issy had finally managed to stammer out. She had tried to cover up her consternation by yawning ostentatiously for as long as she could; then it had turned into a real yawn that she couldn’t stop until she could feel his impatience on the other end of the phone. ‘I mean, well done. It’s really happening. New York, New York! I mean. Wow. I’m so happy for you …’

  Austin winced. She didn’t sound in the least bit happy. That fake yawn hadn’t fooled him in the slightest.

  ‘It’s such a step up,’ he said, feeling a note of pleading creeping into his voice. ‘I mean, it just changes everything really. I don’t even know how I could come back to London and say no to it.’

  ‘No,’ said Issy. ‘Of course you can’t. You’ve worked so hard. And you’re good at what you do.’

  ‘Thanks,’ said Austin.

  There was a windy, wobbling pause across the ocean. Then Issy remembered with a pang of annoyance the cupcakes he’d sent.

  ‘I got your present.’

  Austin couldn’t remember at first, he’d been so sleepy and fuddled when he’d ordered them. Then he did.

  ‘Oh, the cakes! Ha, yes, I thought you’d like those. So you see, they do cupcakes over here too.’

  ‘Well of course they do,’ said Issy. ‘They invented them. Until the Americans, they were just known as fairy cakes.’

  ‘Oh,’ said Austin. ‘I thought you’d think it was funny.’

  ‘They weren’t very good.’ Issy hated sounding sulky. She had to stop this.

  ‘Want to come out and make them better?’ said Austin.

  There was another pause.

  ‘Austin,’ said Issy. ‘I miss you so much.’

  ‘I miss you too,’ said Austin. ‘I really do. I only got the cakes because I was thinking of you. Was it a stupid thing to send?’

  ‘No,’ said Issy.

  ‘Yes,’ said Austin.

  ‘Yes,’ agreed Issy.

  ‘Oh, bugger,’ said Austin. ‘It’s hard, this long-distance stuff, isn’t it?’

  Issy felt an icy grip of fear in her stomach. What did that mean? Did it mean they were going to have to get used to it? Did he mean it was so hard, maybe they shouldn’t bother carrying on? Did he mean they were just going to have a lot of trouble from now on?

  ‘Hmm,’ she said.

  ‘I wish you could come out,’ said Austin. ‘Why don’t you just come out? You’ll LOVE it.’

  ‘Well,’ said Issy, ‘I’ll just kill Darny and leave his body in the garden for the foxes, set fire to the shop, then I’ll be right there.’

  Austin smiled. ‘Look,’ he said, ‘I think I’m going to have to be here for a while longer. Whilst everything gets sorted out, you know. Contracts and stuff. And I have to meet a few people.’

  ‘You are coming back?’ said Issy, suddenly panicked. ‘You’re not asking me to parcel up your stuff and send it on, are you? Put Darny on a plane with a little ticket around his neck like Paddington Bear?’

  ‘Of course,’ said Austin. ‘Of course I’m coming back.’

  ‘But you don’t know how long for,’ said Issy. ‘Or when.’

  Austin didn’t answer. He couldn’t.

  Chapter Seven

  Mince Pies

  If you don’t make your own mincemeat, you might as well just buy mince pies from a shop. Using pre-packed mincemeat, you’re basically just putting stuff in an envelope. It isn’t difficult to make, and it is less expensive, and if you get some of those nice-looking fancy jars, you can give it away as Christmas presents, although make sure you give it to people who like stewed fruit and know what to do with it, otherwise
they tend to look at you as if you’ve just given them a jar of fresh rabbit droppings, which is rarely a welcome gift unless you have a friend with a very very tiny garden to compost.

  The nice thing about mince pies is that they can officially be made to taste utterly delicious by the official worst baker in the world. They are as hard to mess up as peppermint creams. This is not one of those recipes where if you don’t use precisely the exact measure of butter you might as well throw the entire thing in the bin. These are going to turn out absolutely perfect and fine. Trust me. Also, make them on a Sunday, as you can hang around and read the papers whilst the kitchen starts to smell absolutely and utterly delicious. The only weird ingredient is suet. Yeah. It’s weird. Don’t enquire as to what it actually is too closely.

  Mincemeat

  200g small cubes of apple

  200g raisins

  200g sultanas

  1 tbsp nutmeg

  1 tbsp mixed spice

  Juice and zest of one lemon

  Juice and zest of one orange

  250g suet, cut into small pieces

  The night before you need the mincemeat, put all the ingredients in a big bowl and mix well. Leave overnight covered in a clean dishcloth. In the In the morning add brandy (I’ll leave it to your discretion how much) and then stick in the oven at 120ºC/gas mark ½ for three hours.

  Let the mincemeat cool and then pop into sterilised jars (to sterilise, dampen jar for one minute in the microwave). Cover with brown paper, then seal. It should keep for up to a year. If it keeps for up to a year, you’re probably giving it to the wrong friends.

  For the pastry, rub 200g flour and 200g cold, chopped-up butter together. Add 100g of golden sugar, a pinch of salt and a little water until it is ready to roll out and cut. Pop in baking tins, spoon in mincemeat and put pastry lids on pies. Brush top with beaten egg and sprinkle a little more golden sugar, then 20 minutes at 180°C/gas mark 4, and … ta-dah!

  Caroline stomped into the shop the next morning in high dudgeon. Issy looked at her with bleary eyes. She’d hardly slept a wink after speaking to Austin the night before and was on her third coffee. She felt so daft, but it was the unfairness of the whole thing that was getting to her. She’d finally got her life together; she finally felt like she was doing what she had always longed to do and had met a man she loved, and now it was all going horribly wrong.