by Jenny Colgan
‘No … apparently my cupcakes are no good.’
‘They are no good,’ agreed Issy. ‘They’re terrible, in fact.’
‘Well, they drop off half, then I’m meant to practise making them fresh, but I never really bothered.’
Issy rolled her eyes.
Kelly-Lee blinked at her. ‘Does he really, really love you?’
‘I don’t know,’ said Issy, truthfully.
‘Maybe when I’m as old as you I’ll know what real love feels like,’ said Kelly-Lee, starting to weep again.
‘Yes, yes, maybe,’ said Issy. ‘Show me your kitchen?’
Kelly-Lee showed it to her. The oven wasn’t even warm, but the place was amazingly well equipped.
‘Look at all this space!’ said Issy. ‘I work in a bunker! You have windows and everything.’
Kelly-Lee looked around dully. ‘Whatever.’
Issy looked in the enormous, state-of-the-art vacuum fridge. ‘Wow. I would love one of these.’
‘You don’t have a fridge?’
Issy ignored her, and took out a dozen eggs and some butter. She sniffed at it. ‘This butter is very average,’ she said. ‘It’s a bad start. But it will do.’ She added milk, then went to the large flour and sugar vats, and started pulling on an apron. Kelly-Lee regarded her in confusion.
‘Come on,’ said Issy. ‘We haven’t got all day. Well, we have, because it’s Christmas Day and neither of us has anywhere better to go. But let’s not think about that right now.’
Kelly-Lee listened, at first half-heartedly, then with closer attention, as Issy talked her patiently through the right temperature for creaming the butter and sugar, the importance of not overmixing, the right height for sieving the flour, which Kelly-Lee had never heard of.
Twenty minutes later, they put four batches into the oven, and Issy started to unravel the secrets of butter icing.
‘Wait for this,’ she said. ‘You won’t believe the other muck you were churning out.’
She whipped the icing into a confection lighter than cream, and made Kelly-Lee taste it. ‘If you don’t taste, you don’t know what you’re doing,’ she said. ‘You have to taste all the time.’
‘But I won’t fit my jeans!’
‘If you don’t taste, you won’t have a job and you won’t be able to buy any jeans.’
The smell – for once, heavenly rather than overwhelmingly of baking soda – rose up in the kitchen, and instantly Issy felt calm and more relaxed. She was here. He was here, somewhere. It would all come good. She picked up the phone to call her mother.
‘What the hell?’ said Marian.
In Queens, the situation became clear. Issy turned up accompanied by two dozen of what her mother insisted on referring to as fairy cakes.
‘Darny!’ said Issy, as he flew into her arms. She wasn’t expecting that.
‘I’m sorry,’ he muttered. ‘I’m sorry. I was grumpy with you and you went away.’
‘No,’ she said. ‘I was bossy and being like a mum and it was wrong and I hurt you. I’m sorry.’
Darny mumbled something. Issy crouched down so she could hear. ‘I wish you were my mum,’ he said.
Issy didn’t say anything, just held him tight. Then she remembered.
‘You know why my bag is so damn heavy?’ she said. Darny shook his head. ‘I brought you a present.’
It had been a last-minute idea; a silly one as she was toting it around. But she could get something else for Louis.
Darny’s eyes widened when he saw it.
‘WOW!’ he said. All the other kids rushed towards it too.
‘MONSTER GARAGE!’
Issy smiled at her mother. ‘He’s only little,’ she murmured.
‘He is,’ said her mother. ‘Well. Now. This is a mess.’
Issy sat down with a large glass of kosher red, which she was developing a real fondness for. She shook her head.
‘I don’t think it is,’ she said wonderingly. ‘I really don’t. I can’t believe … he’d drop everything. Travel all that way. Oh, I wish I was there now. I wish I was.’
Then her phone rang.
‘Don’t say anything,’ said a strong, humorous, familiar voice. ‘And I’ll text you.’
‘OK … I … I …’
But he’d already hung up.
Chapter Twenty-One
Issy had received a text message with a simple street address on it – cryptic, but to the point. When she got there, first thing on Boxing Day morning, it was quiet, but already people were starting to queue. He wasn’t there. But if she’d learned anything, Issy thought, it was that she could no longer wait for Austin. Or anyone.
‘One, please,’ she said politely. She figured out her skate size in American and strapped on the black boots, then, wobbling slightly, walked out on to the ice. Gramps had used to love to skate; they’d built a municipal rink in Manchester in the fifties, and he liked to go round it with his hands insouciantly behind his back, a funny sight in his smart dark suit. Issy used to go with him sometimes, and he would take her by the hand and whirl her round. She loved it.
Slowly she rotated on the ice, the sun glinting off the surface crystals, 30 Rock towering overhead, people running in, rushing back to work the day after Christmas. She looked around at the pink light glancing off the high buildings. It was, she thought, spectacular. Wonderful. She and New York had had a rocky start, but now … Lost in thought, she attempted a small spin, failed, then stumbled. A hand reached out and grabbed her.
‘Are you all right?’
She turned. For a moment, the sun was so bright she was dazzled and couldn’t see. But she could still make out the shape of him, there, in that long coat, back in the green scarf she had bought him which matched the green dress she was wearing.
‘Oh,’ was all she could say. Now she could see again, she noticed he looked very tired. But apart from that, he looked so very, very happy. ‘Oh.’
And then, balancing on their skates, they were completely and utterly wrapped up in one another, and Issy felt as if she was flying; rushing round and round like an ice dancer leaping through snow flurries, or racing down a snowy slope, or flying through the cold air faster than a jet plane.
‘My love,’ Austin was saying, kissing her again and again. ‘I was such an idiot. Such an idiot.’
‘I was stubborn too,’ said Issy. ‘Didn’t give a thought to what you were up to. So unfair.’
‘You weren’t! You weren’t at all.’
They looked at each other.
‘Let’s not talk any more,’ said Issy, and they stood together in the centre of the rink, as bemused but indulgent skaters continued to weave around them, and the sun melted the ice, which dripped down from the high towers above them like crystal.
They checked back into the hotel and stayed there for a couple of days, then set about making it up to Darny with outings and exhibitions and treats until he begged for mercy. On the third day, Issy took a phone call and came to Austin with a very strange look on her face.
‘That was Kelly-Lee,’ she said. The flash of guilt that crossed his face reminded her that she hadn’t mentioned that she’d met her, and she decided not to tell him what Kelly-Lee had said.
‘I ran into her and helped her make some cupcakes … that’s all,’ she said firmly. ‘Anyway, apparently her boss came in and was totally astounded, and wants to send her to California to open up a new store, and apparently Kelly-Lee feels she’s much more suited to California.’
‘I think she is too,’ said Austin.
‘Anyway, there’s an opening to run the New York store if I want it, apparently …’
Austin hadn’t spoken to Merv. He looked at her carefully.
‘Hmm,’ he said. ‘But we’re going back to London.’
‘It’s raining in London, though, isn’t it?’ said Issy carefully. ‘And we’d probably make a bit of money renting out your house. And mine, when Ashok and Helena move. Unless he gets her pregnant again, in which case
she’s going to kill him and then they’ll split up.’
Austin kept his face completely neutral.
‘It would be nice,’ said Issy, ‘to give Maya a full-time job. Her post office job has gone now, and she’s such an asset. And with Pearl and Caroline getting on so well …’
Austin coughed at that.
‘Comparatively speaking …’
Issy had been doing a lot of thinking over the last few days, now that she was finally rested. A lot.
Austin looked at her. She was lying on the white bed, looking luscious and pale and beautiful, and he didn’t think he’d ever seen anything he liked quite as much.
‘Mmm,’ he said.
Issy looked at him steadily. ‘Well, I suppose … a couple of years in the world’s greatest city, with Darny at the world’s greatest school … it might not be too bad …’
Austin’s eyes widened. ‘We don’t have to. I’m ready to go back. Well, I don’t care. I just want to be where you are.’
Issy closed her eyes. She could see it in her head. The Cupcake Café. She could hear the jangle of the bell, and Pearl’s throaty laugh as she grabbed the mop in the morning; she could see Caroline’s taut face complaining about the price of ski holidays these days. She saw herself dancing to Capital Radio and feeling Louis’ warm arms around her knees as he dashed in with a new picture for the back wall. She could remember the faces of so many of her customers; recall the day she’d first seen the menus back from the printers; how it had started out as a dream but had become real. Her Cupcake Café.
But it was real. It wasn’t a dream. It wouldn’t vanish if she stopped looking at it. It wouldn’t suddenly disappear in a puff of smoke. Pearl was ready – more than ready – to step into her managerial shoes, and Maya’s frantic practising and obsessive attention to detail boded well for her recipes. And Caroline would just be Caroline, she supposed. She couldn’t do much about that. But she could leave now, confident that it could work, it could run without her. And maybe she could help the person she loved with his new life too. The café would, she fervently hoped, never change. But they could.
‘I want to be here,’ she said. ‘Where it’s best for Darny. And close to Mum. But mostly … for us, Austin. You are us. It’s great for us. And it will be great for me. I believe that. It’s all decided. I’ll go back once a month or so, check up on everything, make sure no one’s killed anyone else, but for a couple of years … we’d be mad not to try the adventure. I’ve changed my life once already. I think I’ve got a taste for it now.’
Austin took her in his arms. ‘I will devote my entire life to making it amazing for you,’ he said.
‘You don’t have to,’ said Issy, glancing towards the window, at the lights and the life and the buzzing, glittery, jittery streets. ‘It already is.’
He stopped and thought. Then thought some more.
‘You know,’ he said. ‘You won’t be able to work here without a green card.’
Now it was Issy’s turn to be surprised.
‘Oh no? I thought, maybe in just a caf …’
‘Nope,’ he said. ‘And normally they’re quite hard to get.’
‘Mmm?’
‘Unless you’re … with someone who has one.’ He nuzzled her neck. ‘You know, in all the madness, I never got you a Christmas present.’
‘Oh no, you didn’t!’ said Issy. ‘I forgot! I want one!’
‘You know what they sell lots of in New York?’
‘Dreams? Ice skates? Pretzels?’
He looked at her pensively. ‘Aim higher.’
She looked back at him without saying anything, but her fingers unconsciously strayed to her little diamond earrings.
‘That’s it,’ said Austin. ‘You need something to go with those earrings. Definitely. But maybe … on your finger?’
And they dressed warmly, and walked out hand in hand into the sharp, bright, exciting future of a honking, buzzing New York morning.
Back in London, Pearl looked at the post-lunch rush happily poking their fingers at the New Year range of apple and raisin cupcakes; rose blossom for the eventual spring; discounted gingerbread for the last few Christmas addicts, beautifully put together by Maya, and smiled.
‘Cappuccino’s up!’ she yelled.
Acknowledgements
Firstly, thanks to everyone who read Meet Me at the Cupcake Café and was kind enough to let me know they enjoyed it, or even kinder to review it online and let other people know. I just can’t thank you enough. I love hearing from people, especially if you’ve tried the recipes! And you can get me on Twitter @jennycolgan or my Facebook page is www.facebook.com/thatwriterjennycolgan. If you haven’t read Meet Me at the Cupcake Café, don’t worry; this book should stand alone.
Special thanks to Sufjan Stevens and Lowell Brams for doing their best to let us have a little Christmas miracle … Everything lost will be found.
Also, many thanks to Kate Webster for letting me use her wonderful chocolate cola cupcake recipe (see page 270). For more of her delicious recipes check out her food blog: http://thelittleloaf.wordpress.com.
Huge thanks always to Ali Gunn, Rebecca Saunders, Jo Dickinson, Manpreet Grewal, David Shelley, Ursula Mackenzie, Emma Williams, Jo Wickham, Camilla Ferrier, Sarah McFadden, Emma Graves for the lovely cover, Wallace Beaton for the art work, everyone at Little, Brown, the Board, and all our friends and relations. Special hugs and Christmas kisses to Mr B and the three wee bees; I so hope your Christmas memories are magical. Even that time we couldn’t get the Scalextric to work.
Baking your first cupcake by The Caked Crusader
So, you’ve read this fab novel and, apart from thinking, gosh, I want to read all of Jenny Colgan’s other novels, you’re also thinking, I want to bake my own cupcakes. Congratulations! You are setting out on a journey that will result in pleasure and great cake!
Firstly, I’ll let you into a little secret that no cupcake bakery would want me to share: making cupcakes is easy, quick and cheap. You will create cupcakes in your own home – even on your first attempt, I promise – that taste better and look better than commercially produced cakes.
The great thing about making cupcakes is how little equipment they require. Chances are you already have a cupcake tin (the tray with twelve cavities) knocking about in your kitchen cupboards. It’s the same pan you use for making Yorkshire puds and, even if you don’t have one, they can be picked up for under £5 in your supermarket’s kitchenware aisle. The only other thing to buy before you can get started is a pack of paper cases, which, again, any supermarket sells in the home baking aisle.
Before making cupcakes, it’s important to absorb what I think of as the four key principles of baking (this makes them sound rather grander than they are!):
– Bring the ingredients (particularly the butter) to room temperature before you start. Not only will this create the best cupcake but also it’s so much easier for you to work with the ingredients … and why wouldn’t you want to make it easy on yourself?
– Preheat your oven i.e. switch it on to the right temperature setting about 20–30 minutes before the cakes go into the oven. This means that the cake batter receives the correct temperature straight away and all the chemical processes will commence, thus producing a light sponge. Thankfully, in order to bake a great cupcake, you don’t need to know what all those chemical processes are!
– Weigh your ingredients on a scale and make sure you don’t miss anything out. Baking isn’t like any other form of cooking – you can’t guess the measurements or make substitutions and expect success. If you’re making a casserole that requires two carrots and you decide to put in three, chances are it will be just as lovely (although perhaps a touch more carroty); if your cake recipe requires, for example, two eggs and you put in three, what would have been an airy fluffy sponge will come out like eggy dough. This may sound restrictive but actually, it’s great – all the thinking is done for you in the recipe, yet you’ll get all the credit for baking a del
icious cupcake.
– Use good-quality ingredients. If you put butter on your bread, why would you put margarine in a cake? If you eat nice chocolate, why would you use cooking chocolate in a cake? A cake can only be as nice as the ingredients going into it.
DON’T MISS THE NEXT IRRESISTIBLE NOVEL FROM
Jenny
COLGAN
Read on for an exclusive look at the first chapter!
Coming in Spring 2013
A Word From Jenny
There are lots of marvellous artisan chocolate shops in Paris. My favourite is called Paul Rogers on the Rue du Faubourg. I would strongly recommend a visit there, and that you taste their hot chocolate, whichever season you go. They’re run by the eponymous Paul, who is, indeed, a curly-haired, twinkly-eyed, roguish-looking chap.
This book is not based on any of those shops in a single detail, but instead on the principle that when people dedicate their lives to one thing that they really really love and learn a lot about it, amazing things can happen.
Somebody once said the reason we love chocolate so much is that it melts at the same temperature as the inside of our mouths. Scientists also talk about releasing endorphins and so on. But the simple truth is that we like chocolate because it is REALLY REALLY NICE. I’ve put in some really lovely recipes here too. I like to think as I get older I can actually cook with chocolate instead of just, you know, accidentally eating it as soon as it’s in the house or sometimes in the car.
When we moved to France a while back (for my husband’s work), I was surprised to find they took chocolate as seriously as they take any kind of food. La Maison du Chocolat is a really high-end chain and you’ll find one in most towns, where you can chat with the chocolatier about what you want and what else you’re going to be eating, just like a wine waiter. But personally I am just as happy with a great big slab of Dairy Milk, or Toblerone or my absolute fave, Fry’s Chocolate Cream (plain). Not everything has to be luxury to be enjoyed. Alas, my children have now reached the age where it’s becoming obvious who keeps stealing the Kinder bars out of their party bags. Kids, hum, look, I hate to have to tell you this. It was definitely your dad.
