All That She Can See_Every Little Thing She Bakes Is Magic

by Carrie Hope Fletcher

  3

  Loneliness and Flour

  After Peter, her only friend, was taken away, Cherry had never felt more alone and that was the first time Cherry developed a Meddlum of her own: Loneliness. Often people try to avoid Loneliness by seeing friends and family and avoiding long periods of isolation but it was persistent. It wanted in, to insert itself into people’s lives and do its worst. It would knock on doors with its long, spindly fingers, waiting to enter their homes and wrap those fingers around their lives and squeeze until the poor person was gasping for breath. And Cherry Redgrave soon became Loneliness’s fondest victim.

  One day, shortly after Peter had been taken away, the most popular girl in Cherry’s class handed each pupil an invitation to her birthday party. Everyone, that was, except for Cherry. Before Peter, Cherry had been used to being left out of games. She was used to being in her own company and had even found that she enjoyed the solitude. After Peter, however, after getting used to his friendship, after knowing what it was like to have someone to share things with and the feeling of not being so alone, she felt the sting of being left out so much more than she ever had before. She swore she wouldn’t cry and she was doing so well until she felt two strong bony hands on her shoulders. When Cherry looked up, she saw Loneliness for the first time and as it grinned maliciously down at her, two long spools of drool landed on her face and ran down her cheeks.

  Most children invent imaginary friends to cope with feeling sad or lonely, except Cherry didn’t invent hers and he may have been invisible to everyone else but he certainly wasn’t imaginary. Peter had been taken away from her so suddenly and Loneliness had stepped in just when she needed someone the most and so she clung to that constant presence by her side. Loneliness was all she had needed when the other kids never invited her to play games in the playground. It was all she needed when a teacher left her behind ‘by accident’ on a school trip. Loneliness was all she needed when her father, Lucas, left without so much as an explanation or a goodbye. One day he was there and the next day he was just… gone. Cherry was only eight years old. Most children are spared from being privy to their parents’ innermost fears and feelings but not Cherry. She watched Sadness grow around Samuel like mould and there was nothing she could do to stop it.

  After Lucas left, the children at Cherry’s school would either tease her from afar or stay away from her completely, not just because they found her strange but because her single-minded peers, who had been raised by traditional single-minded parents, didn’t understand why she had been raised by two men. And so she gripped Loneliness’s hand even tighter and it happily held her closer. But Loneliness’s grip wasn’t as tight as it would’ve liked because despite all of this, Cherry still had her other father, her hero, and he was the strongest man she’d ever known.

  Samuel Redgrave was a baker and owned a small bakery not far from where they lived. He smelled of cakes and flour and fruit fillings – smells that Cherry would relate to home for evermore. On the days when the other children had been exceptionally cruel, Samuel would lift his daughter up onto the counter and treat her to a slice of the day’s ‘special’. Cherry would eat through her sobs but would always leave the last mouthful for Loneliness – she couldn’t help it. But it was the day that Samuel taught her to make cherry pie that she remembers most vividly. Maybe because it was the day he not only stopped her from crying but taught her how to stop herself from crying. Whatever the reason, Cherry would always remember that day as the day she truly fell in love with baking for the first time. Her father patiently showed her how to roll the pastry, not too thick and not too thin. He taught her how to destone cherries and then let her mix them in with the lemon, sugar, vanilla and cornflour, before playfully dabbing a blob of dough on her cheeks. Cherry was certain no pie would ever taste as good as the first pie she ever made.

  Over time, Cherry found comfort at home with her father and in baking but Loneliness still remained and by the time she was in secondary school, she had grown accustomed to keeping her head down and her voice quiet. She slipped silently through the corridors, dodging the many, many Meddlums of her teenage peers, and with Loneliness cloaking her from the world, she went by completely and utterly unnoticed.

  Samuel died suddenly when the aneurysm that he didn’t know was in his brain had burst and no one took it harder than eighteen-year-old Cherry. Her whole world collapsed around her and Loneliness finally had her all to itself. It held her back from reaching out to those around her who had offered their help and it stopped her from opening the front door whenever the doorbell rang so that Cherry’s only choice was to stay in bed. Grief showed up under her pillow one morning, cold and whimpering. Cherry curled herself around it and cried until her chest hurt and her eyes were sore. The more pain Cherry expelled, the warmer Grief became, and Loneliness watched on, feeling stronger than ever before.

  It was only when the smell of pastry started to fade from the house that Cherry slid from the sheets and walked into the kitchen. If it hadn’t been for Mrs Overfield, her generous if slightly nosey next door neighbour, leaving bags of groceries on her doorstep she would have starved. She had made a note to pay her back when things looked clearer but for now, she pulled ingredients for a cherry pie from the fridge. Loneliness worried she was trying to leave the house but it was relieved when she only made it as far as the kitchen. Still, it stood close by and watched her bake.

  Cherry cranked the spoon in the batter, her tears falling into the mixture as she stirred and stirred and stirred. When the crust had glazed in the oven, and the fruit was bubbling and the smell had seeped into every pore of the house, Cherry felt ready to eat the pie that reminded her so much of her father. She delicately slid the fork between the lattice, gathering herself a bite. Cherry knew she couldn’t bake as well as her father but she hoped the pie’s familiar taste would loosen the knot in her stomach, even only momentarily. However, as soon as the pastry and the soft cherries passed her lips she felt instantaneously worse. It tasted heavy and solid and chalky. She’d never tasted Grief before but somehow Cherry knew that was exactly what she could taste: Grief.

  Confused, Cherry set about baking another pie, and another, and another. Each pie tasted less and less like Grief, but her strange palette detected more and more odd flavours with each one, flavours she’d never tasted before but knew instinctively what they were. The second pie tasted like Confusion, the third tasted of Curiosity, the fourth like Astonishment, the fifth was Amusement… Cherry didn’t know how it was possible but she couldn’t come up with another conclusion other than each and every pie tasted of what she was feeling. Loneliness relaxed, misinterpreting Cherry’s repetitive baking as a bid to distract herself from Grief, and felt safe in the knowledge that she wouldn’t be leaving for some time.

  Cherry took out a notebook and a pencil from a drawer and noted how each feeling tasted:

  Confusion: Clementines and mandarins.

  Curiosity: Mushed banana, cat hair and mint.

  Astonishment: Rosemary and silver.

  Amusement: Fizzy raspberries, salt and phlegm.

  Cherry stared at the list. But it couldn’t be… could it? Could she really taste what she was feeling? How was this even possible? Whatever was happening, Cherry knew there was likely to be more to this talent that she needed to discover. And so she baked. And baked. And baked. She attempted to concentrate certain emotions into cakes, muffins, pies and brownies and then she ate them, waiting to see if her suspicions were confirmed and each time they were – she really could taste her feelings. Sometimes it was the faintest of tastes, and other times her taste buds couldn’t handle the intensity of flavour but she knew she had to keep practising.

  Cherry was so preoccupied, frantically tasting and jotting everything down, that she hadn’t heard Mrs Overfield enter the house. Not having seen Cherry emerge for weeks and fearing something awful had happened, Mrs Overfield had taken it upon herself to come in using the spare key she knew Samuel had kept under the
doormat.

  ‘Cherry, m’love?’ Mrs Overfield called as she walked tentatively into the kitchen, stopping abruptly at the sight that greeted her. Cherry’s black hair and dark skin were almost entirely white with flour, every surface was covered with cracked eggshells, batter, dough and baked goods still warm in their tins. As Mrs Overfield walked further into the kitchen, so did her Meddlum and with it, Cherry made her next great discovery.

  Cherry had never known why she’d been cursed with the peculiar power to see everyone’s inner darkness, the very worst of what they were feeling. Mrs Overfield’s ‘worst’ was Worry. Worry was a large body that resembled a bundle of tangled grey wool, and it often reached down and vigorously shook Mrs Overfield’s hands. Cherry was watching this exact thing happening now and suddenly she felt a jolt in her brain as a connection was made. If I can see people’s bad feelings and put my own good feelings into food, she thought excitedly, maybe my food can help make people happier again. Before Cherry could acknowledge the responsibility she was taking on or how it might impact her life and her own happiness, she was darting from worktop to worktop. This could all go miserably wrong. Just because she could taste her feelings didn’t mean that other people would be able to. But she had to try.

  ‘Give me an hour and I’ll have something for you. Just give me an hour,’ Cherry said, without looking up. She scrambled around, collecting ingredients together. Mrs Overfield followed Cherry from fridge to cupboard, from chopping board and back, trying to find the perfect moment to interject so that she could have a proper conversation with her, but when she saw the concentration on Cherry’s face, her tongue sticking out the side of her mouth, Mrs Overfield realised maybe this preoccupation was exactly what Cherry needed. After all, she was out of bed and doing something.

  Worry was busy massaging Mrs Overfield’s head and whispering little troublesome thoughts into her ear. Cherry couldn’t hear what it was saying but she assumed none of it was good, so she concentrated all the Calmness and Serenity she could muster into a Bakewell Tart and just over an hour later, she presented a slice of it to Mrs Overfield.

  ‘Cherry, is everything OK?’ Mrs Overfield asked gently. ‘It’s completely natural to grieve but you’ve got to talk to the people that care about you. You can talk to me.’ Worry had a firm grip on her head to ensure she kept her gaze fixed on Cherry so she hadn’t yet looked at the Bakewell Tart. Mrs Overfield took in eighteen-year-old Cherry. Cherry looked like she hadn’t slept in days, she’d lost weight and Mrs Overfield was sure she hadn’t showered for a while either. Cherry had even lost count of the days. Worry tightened its grip on Mrs Overfield, in full control of its prey. Loneliness, on the other hand, had become complacent while Cherry had been baking, so when Cherry reached out to take Mrs Overfield’s hand it was taken by surprise. It lunged for Cherry but was too late.

  ‘Mrs O?’ Cherry squeezed her fingers and instantly Worry’s throat tightened and its whisperings were muted. Cherry turned Mrs O’s hand and placed the plate in her upturned palm. ‘Eat this. Please?’ Cherry said, holding the small fork out to her.

  ‘All right…’

  With Worry quieter and calmer than before, Mrs O plunged the fork into the icing, through the crust and then daintily nibbled at the morsel. Cherry watched in wonder as every muscle in Mrs O’s body visibly relaxed and then in horror as her eyes rolled to the back of her head and she slumped backwards onto the sofa, squashing Worry in an instant. She was out cold. Cherry ran to Mrs O and thrust her fingers to her neck, trying frantically to find a pulse. Once that gentle thump thump beat beneath her fingertips she pulled away and it was then that she saw Worry slip and tumble off of Mrs O’s shoulder and into her lap. Its arms were shrinking and then with a great pop its body deflated until it was just half the size it was before. Cherry’s moment of panic passed and had now been replaced by a feeling of happiness and contentment. Cherry leaned over and kissed Mrs O on her forehead, careful not to touch Worry’s twitching fingers. She ran upstairs to take a shower, not even realising Grief had disappeared from her bed, the only sign it had been there the black tear stains on her bed sheets. Loneliness lingered, but with a new sense of foreboding that something had shifted.

  Over the next few months, Cherry honed her talent. The act of channelling her feelings into her baking provided her with a small amount of peace. Loneliness still clung to her clothes but its fingers often slipped. After her breakthrough with Mrs O (who woke up hours later, claiming she’d had the best sleep of her life), Cherry realised she’d put too much Relaxation into the tart, resulting in Mrs O’s swift fall into deep sleep. Like all ingredients, her feelings had to be measured. Cherry also realised that trying to force herself to feel certain things when she wanted to include them in her recipes was impossible. She had to find a way to ‘collect’ them so she had a supply for the future. If she could do that, maybe she’d feel ready to re-enter the world and see if she could help more people after she’d helped Mrs O. She watched one feel-good movie after another and cried Happy Tears into a jar. She slept with fresh fruit in her bed to infuse them with a Good Night’s Sleep. Cherry even spent hours cuddling a chocolate bar so it absorbed her Tender Loving Care. She found ways to build up her supplies and she tested her recipes on an unsuspecting Mrs Overfield to whom Cherry had given the spare key, much to Loneliness’s horror. It found itself a little shorter and the fur around its neck was beginning to thin out.

  Mrs Overfield’s Worry, while not as visible as it once was, still remained. Cherry soon realised though that Mrs Overfield was carrying plenty of emotional baggage that she could tailor her baking to in order to get rid of Worry once and for all. When Mrs O complained how she never felt brave enough to call the television company when her signal cut out, Cherry whipped up some Confidence Crème Caramel. When Mrs O’s cat died, Cherry made a batch of Comfort Cookies. And when Mrs O applied for a new job as a part-time cleaner and worried they would never take her on because of her tender age of sixty-four, Cherry baked her a Que Sera Cake. Once she started eating Cherry’s baking, Mrs O was never out of balance for long again.

  It took Cherry a year of baking and spending time with Mrs O to feel ready to leave the house for more than a few minutes at a time. Up until then, she’d relied on Mrs O to get her groceries but Cherry knew it was time to re-enter the world. She lived in a small English village by the sea so her world was small – but for someone who hadn’t left her house very much in the past year, it felt huge. Loneliness had never been far away during that time and in a funny way had been quite a close friend to Cherry but love from Loneliness isn’t really love at all and Cherry knew it was time to start life afresh.

  ‘You can do this,’ Mrs O said to Cherry.

  Cherry was stood in the doorway to her house. She tilted her head back towards the sky and the sun gently smiled down on her face. ‘I don’t think I can,’ she replied.

  ‘I don’t think you should,’ Loneliness said, reaching out a shadowy hand as Cherry took a tentative step forwards, but the sun singed its knuckles slightly and it pulled it back in shock.

  The light was trying to claim Cherry as its own.

  ‘OK. OK. OK,’ Cherry said between shaky breaths. Having recovered itself, Loneliness followed, squinting against the painful light.

  ‘I’m right here, Cherry,’ Mrs O said. ‘And I can’t walk very fast anyway so the only way to take this is slowly.’ They walked arm-in-arm towards the village. Towards people, Cherry thought.

  They were approaching the high street, and suddenly Cherry had to pause. She could see the townsfolk milling about in the distance but, also, there were Meddlums everywhere. Each person had at least two or three and all of them looked happy and hungry – and stronger than her. The thought of attempting to rid just one of these people of their bad feeling, let alone the whole town, suddenly seemed impossible and Cherry doubled over, her head cloudy.

  ‘Cherry?’ Mrs O said in concern. ‘Is everything all right?’

  Cherry t
hought about how she’d felt useless her whole life. She’d felt useless when Peter was taken away, she’d felt useless when Lucas had left, and she’d felt useless when her father had died. And then Cherry thought of her own Meddlum and how much she wished someone would burn it off her like a wart, would help free her from its clutches. A feeling of purpose spread through her, then. She refused to be useless any longer.

  ‘Yes.’ Cherry straightened up and brushed down her skirt. ‘Everything’s fine. Let’s go.’ And she pulled Mrs O towards the sea of Meddlums.

  The village was so small that everyone knew everyone, and no one’s business was their own. The things that were considered a scandal here would easily be overlooked in a larger city. If Cherry had lived somewhere bigger, chances are no one would have noticed she hadn’t been seen in a year but here, she was a household name because of it. What a shame, people would mutter as they walked past her father’s house, looking up at the windows, imagining Cherry curled up in a ball, riddled with grief. Cherry had lost count of the number of times Pity had rung the doorbell and ran away. Cherry’s knuckles grew whiter as she gripped Mrs O’s arm tighter. It wasn’t being among people and feeling their stares that she couldn’t stand. It was all of the Meddlums.

  Mrs Brewer’s Anxiety and Boredom had their limbs tangled, feet in faces, hands in hair, wildly trying to untie themselves. Mr Datta’s three Meddlums were a mess – Insecurity kept treading on Arrogance’s toes and apologising, while Greed watched on, rubbing its hands together so hard its palms were almost worn away. Miss Kightley’s Meddlum was directly behind her, its forehead against the small of her back and its long fingers prodding, poking and pushing her forwards. Impatience didn’t like it when she slowed down.