by Jenny Colgan
Joe touched Issy’s cheek. ‘She’d have loved you too.’
Issy held his old hand to her face. ‘Thanks, Gramps.’
‘Give me a cake then.’
Issy raised her eyebrows at the nurse; it wasn’t Keavie today. The nurse walked her to the door.
‘Where have all the romantics gone these days?’ the nurse mused. ‘It wouldn’t be like that now. He’d pull her then not ring her the next day. Not your grandfather,’ she hastened to add. ‘I mean, a bloke. In general. I don’t think a man would ever come up to me in a nightclub and think, right, babe, let’s get married and have children. Or if he’s going to, he’d better hurry up.’
Issy smiled in sympathy.
‘Good luck. Would you like another cake?’
‘Go on then.’
Chapter Seventeen
Graeme looked at the post and sighed. He didn’t even want to open it. He’d been through this before; it was a big envelope, stuffed with leaflets and information. With planning, a big envelope was good. A small one was bad, it meant ‘no’. A big envelope meant, ‘Please fill in all these forms for the next stage.’ It meant printed signs to put up on the lamp posts around Pear Tree Court. He didn’t even have to open it. He just had to do it. He sighed.
A blond head poked round the door. It was Marcus Boekhoorn, the Dutch owner of Kalinga Deniki along with about a hundred other companies, who was over on a tour of his UK bases.
‘Our rising star,’ he said, striding into the office. Marcus did everything quickly. He never stopped moving, like a shark. Graeme jumped up immediately.
‘Yes, sir.’ He was glad he was wearing his tight-fitting Paul Smith suit. Marcus was in great shape, and was rumoured to like his lieutenants lean and hungry-looking.
‘I like this local project,’ said Marcus, tapping his teeth with his Montblanc pen. ‘This is exactly the way I think our business should be going. Local business, local clients, local finance, local builders. Everyone is happy. You understand?’
Graeme nodded.
‘You get this right, I think there is a big future for you. Anywhere you would like to go. Local development. It is the new thing. I’m very pleased.’
He glanced at Graeme’s desk. Even upside down, and in another language, he too recognized the envelope immediately. Not much got past him.
‘You have it?’ he said joyfully. Graeme tried to forget that he had been putting off opening it.
‘Looks like it,’ he said, trying to seem cool and laid-back.
‘That’s the business,’ said Marcus, patting him on the shoulder. ‘Good for you.’
Billy the pushy salesman rushed in after the boss had departed for the heliport in Battersea.
‘You’re in the good books,’ he said, not altogether pleased. Kalinga Deniki wasn’t a place that encouraged good coworking skills. It was winners and losers in this game.
Graeme felt cross when he looked up and saw Billy standing there, in his flash loafers and gold signet ring, carefully cultivated stubble on his jutting chin.
‘Mm,’ said Graeme, reluctant to reveal anything to this little shithead who would only use the information to his own advantage.
‘It’s sweet,’ mused Billy. ‘This local stuff. Just as well, you know. You’ve got to sort out the mortgage with the local bank. The leases up there are a mess and you’re going to have to get your money out of them.’
‘I know all that,’ said Graeme, pretending to be nonchalant, even though it was a pain in the arse not to be able to go to the big merchant banks like he usually did.
‘Good,’ said Billy. ‘It’s just, I don’t know, seems to me you aren’t all that keen on this project. Your heart’s not in it. Figured it might be the legwork. So if you need someone else to take it on … I mean, I know you’re really overworked.’
Graeme narrowed his eyes.
‘Keep your sticky fingers off my project please,’ he said. He’d meant to sound jovial, but it came out sharper than he’d intended.
‘Ooh, touchy,’ said Billy, raising his hands. ‘Fine, fine. I just didn’t want you to bite off anything more than you could chew, that’s all.’
‘Thanks for your concern,’ said Graeme, staring at Billy stonily until he left the room and closed the door. As soon as he’d done so, Graeme testily threw the envelope at the wall.
Chapter Eighteen
Children’s Cooking Party Cupcakes
150g butter, softened
150g caster sugar
175g self-raising flour
3 eggs
1 tsp vanilla extract
icing, marshmallows, chocolate buttons, hundreds and thousands, edible stars, orange and lemon jelly slices, food colouring (all colours); edible gold and silver foil, candy footballs, Smarties, candy flowers, liquorice allsorts, ground almonds, toffee and chocolate sauce, jelly worms
Preheat the oven to 180°C/gas mark 4.
Line a 12-cupcake pan with cupcake papers.
Crack the eggs into a cup and beat lightly with a fork.
Place all the ingredients in a large bowl and beat with an electric mixer for two minutes, until light and creamy. Divide the mixture evenly between the cake cases.
Bake for 18–20 minutes until risen and firm to the touch. Allow to cool for a few minutes and then transfer to a wire rack. Um, decorate.
As Issy buried herself in work to deal with her conflicting sense of sadness and relief at breaking up with Graeme, and Graeme tried to figure out a strategy to win back Issy’s trust, at least until the deal went through, and Pearl tried to get a straight answer out of Ben about his intentions, and Helena started checking out flats for sale, Austin found himself languishing. He read the proposal again and again. There was no doubt about it: Kalinga Deniki were trying to unravel the complex banking arrangements of the block, take out another loan and rebuild the entire thing. Sod the ironmonger’s, the newsagent’s. Austin thought back to Issy’s birthday present from the funny little man next door. She’d seemed so genuinely pleased, so touched and happy to be accepted into the community. But for what? The duplicity, that was what amazed him. She’d seemed an honest, straightforward, genuine person. And it wasn’t until now, when he understood how much she wasn’t what he’d hoped, that he realized how much he’d liked the person she’d seemed to be.
Louis’s birthday finally arrived.
‘You are bouncing this morning,’ observed Pearl, folding up Buzz Lightyear napkins.
‘Of course I am,’ said Issy. ‘It’s beautiful Louis’s birthday, isn’t it.’
‘Is ma birfday,’ agreed Louis, who was sitting on the floor making his new Iggle Piggle and Tombliboo (gifts from Issy) kiss each other and bake imaginary cupcakes. ‘I likes been five.’
‘You’re not—’ Issy decided that no one should have their illusions shattered today. ‘Five is a wonderful age,’ she agreed. ‘What I especially like about it is how many cuddles and kisses you give everyone when you’re a big boy of five.’
Louis realized he was being played, but was such a benevolent soul he didn’t mind too much.
‘I gives yooo kiss and cuddle, Issy.’
‘Thank you, Louis,’ said Issy, throwing her arms around him. If Louis were the closest she ever got to having a small person around the place, she had decided, she was going to make the most of it.
‘And are you having a birthday party today?’
‘Iss. All mah frens is coming to Louis party.’
Issy glanced at Pearl, who nodded. ‘Well, they all said yes,’ she said, looking faintly surprised.
‘Why wouldn’t they?’ said Issy.
Pearl shrugged. She still felt forced into this. It was one thing asking the kids at playgroup to Issy’s safe, well-known cupcake shop, right next to their homes. It would have been a different story altogether if she’d invited them to her home. Then it would have been excuses and murmurs about swimming lessons and long-standing grandparent visits. Being the first kid in the area to get exclusive access to a baking party was on
e thing. Doing it for Louis was quite another.
‘Who else is coming?’ asked Issy. She rather liked the idea of becoming a whizz at children’s parties.
‘My mum,’ said Pearl. ‘My pastor. A couple of people from the church.’
She didn’t add that she’d hardly asked any of her friends. It wasn’t that she was ashamed of where she worked, or that Louis was in with a group of new people. A lot of her friends couldn’t work anyway; they had more than one child at home, or no help with childcare like she had with her mum. She just didn’t want them to think that she was showing off, throwing a big extravagant party for Louis like she didn’t think the local Maccy D’s was good enough for her child (which she didn’t), and she didn’t want anyone to imagine she was getting above herself. Louis had to go to school soon, after all. Life where they lived was hard enough.
Most of all, she didn’t mention Ben. She couldn’t. He had been, though, so sweet. So lovely. She’d seen him so much. She had actually begun to … Well, he was working up this way. Up at the Olympic site. He was earning. Her mother could stay in the council property, but there was nothing to stop them … well, maybe renting a place. Just a little place round here. Not too far from Ben’s work, and close enough so that Louis could still go to the same nursery … and then, maybe next year, one of the wonderful schools they had around here, filled with light and art and happy children in smart uniforms. She’d seen them. It didn’t feel, to Pearl, in the scheme of things, such a big dream. It was more than she could possibly have envisaged only a year before. And she was terrified of jinxing it. But Ben knew where the party was. And he’d promised to be there.
‘Well, it’ll be fantastic,’ said Issy, sorting out the raw ingredients into little bowls. She’d also invested in a dozen tiny aprons, which she’d been sighing and cooing over. Pearl looked at her with narrowed eyes. Something was definitely up.
‘Ish my birfday!’ announced Louis loudly, seeing as no one had mentioned it for at least three minutes.
‘Well, is it there, little man?’ said Doti, coming through the door. ‘Just as well I have some cards for you then.’
And he opened his bag and revealed half a dozen bright-coloured envelopes. The girls and Louis gathered round. Some were addressed just to him, others simply to ‘the little boy at the Cupcake Café’. Pearl squinted.
Issy picked him up. ‘Have you been telling everyone it’s your birthday?’ she asked him solemnly.
Louis nodded. ‘On Satday. Mah birfday Satday. I say “Come to my birfday pahty Satday. Ah have mah birfday pahty in shop!”’
Pearl and Issy exchanged slightly worried glances.
‘But I’m already closing the shop for a dozen toddlers,’ said Issy.
Pearl put her head next to Louis.
‘Who did you ask to your birthday, baby?’ she asked gently.
‘Well, me for one,’ said Doti. ‘Thought I’d come by when I’ve finished my rounds. I have quite the present for you, young man.’
‘Yay!’ said Louis, rushing up to the postie and throwing his little arms round his knees. ‘Ah do laike presents, Mr Postman.’
‘Well, that’s good.’
Doti checked his bag. ‘Oh, there’s another couple here.’
‘Oh God.’ Pearl rolled her eyes. ‘He’s invited half the town.’
‘Are you an irrepressible socialite?’ said Issy to Louis, rubbing his nose.
‘I is ipress slite!’ said Louis keenly, nodding his head. Pearl watched the two of them together, meaningfully, until she almost didn’t notice the postman leaning over.
‘Heavy bag this morning,’ he said. ‘Maybe I should have a coffee. And one of your gorgeous cakes.’
Pearl gave him her usual amused look.
‘What about a green tea?’ she said. ‘I might even come drink it with you. Seeing as you appear to be such a good friend of my son.’
The postman’s face lit up, and he immediately dropped his bag.
‘I would like that,’ he said, just as an Owl City song came on the radio. It was such a beautiful morning. Pearl and the postman sat down and Issy spun Louis round in a dance, feeling his little heart close to hers. She hugged him so hard she nearly squeezed the breath out of him.
‘Hip hip h’ray!’ yelled Louis.
‘Bugger it, Ow. Ow. Ow. Darny!’ Austin crumpled over on to the floor.
‘Well, you didn’t stay still,’ came the small, furious-sounding voice.
‘I bloody did,’ said Austin, pulling his hand away from his face. As he’d expected, there was blood on it. ‘Back to bears!’
‘I am never going to become Robin Hood if you won’t let me practise,’ huffed Darny. ‘And Big Bear said no more arrows.’
‘Why did Big Bear say that?’ said Austin, marching upstairs to the bathroom.
‘Um, because it is … so sore,’ said Darny, his voice tailing off.
‘Exactly!’
Austin looked at himself in the bathroom mirror – which, he noticed belatedly, was horribly smeared. He had just about enough money to pay a cleaner, but not enough to pay a good one. He sighed, and wiped it with a towel. Just as he’d thought, there was a perfect hole in his forehead – not much blood, but deep enough to leave a mark. He groaned. Obviously he shouldn’t have let Darny shoot that arrow at him but it was only meant to be a toy, and Darny had been so persuasive … He rubbed the sore spot. Sometimes this parenting lark was a steep learning curve. Dabbing it with tissue, he came back downstairs. There was also a mountain of work mail that he had thrown in his satchel the previous evening before he left the bank. He absolutely had to look at it, it wasn’t – as he repeatedly told his overdraft clients – going to go away.
‘OK,’ he said, going back downstairs and opening the sitting-room door. An arrow narrowly missed his head. ‘You can watch that Japanese strobe-y thing you like on TV. I have work to do.’
‘And we have a party this afternoon,’ said Darny laconically. Austin looked at him suspiciously. Darny didn’t get asked to many parties. Darny had explained to him that it was because he wore pants trainers, but had also said he didn’t care because pants trainers were a stupid reason not to like someone. In fact, they did get invited to a few, but it was no coincidence, Austin quickly realized, that it was all the single mothers who invited him along, whether their kids were boys, girls or sometimes not even in Darny’s class. Darny complained about this most vociferously of all and hated ‘being a pimp’, as he called it.
‘The problem is,’ as Mrs Khan, his form teacher, had put it, ‘he has an extremely advanced vocabulary for his age. Which is both good and bad.’
‘Whose party?’ asked Austin doubtfully. ‘Oh, and don’t shoot any more arrows in the house.’
‘You’re not the boss of me,’ said Darny.
‘I am, for the thousandth time, the boss of you,’ said Austin. ‘Shut up or I won’t take you to this party. Whose party?’
‘Louis’s party,’ said Darny, firing an arrow into the light fitting. It stuck there. Both Austin and Darny regarded it with interest.
‘Hmm,’ said Darny.
‘I’m not getting it,’ said Austin. ‘Who’s Louis?’
‘The boy in the café,’ said Darny.
Austin squinted. ‘What, little Louis? The baby?’
‘You’re very prejudiced,’ said Darny. ‘I would hate to only have friends from my own age range.’
‘It’s his birthday today? And he’s invited you to his party?’
‘Yes,’ said Darny. ‘When you went in with the bank bags.’
Austin had popped in the previous week. After Issy’s party he had wanted to see her, even if just to make sure that things were all right between them, and not too embarrassing. Also, even though it was tough to admit it to himself, he missed her. Whenever he went past the now-thriving old men’s pub, he remembered her, all sad, or excited, or just generally emotional at breakfast. He liked spending time with her, there was no getting round it. He had liked spending ti
me with her. He supposed that was coming to an end now; she certainly wasn’t popping round at breakfast time any more.
At any rate, when he’d gone to the shop after school one day, she wasn’t there, just Pearl and that scary-looking woman with the prominent jawbone, who’d done a funny breathy voice when she was serving him and stared deeply into his eyes, which might have been meant to be sexy or was maybe just hungry, he couldn’t tell. And sure enough, Darny and Louis had been on the floor together, playing. Louis had announced that he’d seen a mouse, and Pearl was mortified – apparently they’d had a story about a mouse at nursery, but shouting ‘Mouse, mouse!’ in a catering establishment was frankly bad for business. Darny had shouted, ‘Mouse, mouse!’ the next five times they’d gone out, in every café or fast food restaurant they’d been in, and sure enough, nobody liked it.
‘Hmm,’ said Austin. Well, it was a beautiful July day, and he didn’t really have a plan for them that afternoon.
‘We’ll have to cut your hair,’ he said to Darny.
‘No way,’ said Darny, who had to continually flip it back now to see.
Austin sighed. ‘I’m going to work in the front room, OK? Don’t turn the music up too loud.’
‘Mouse, mouse,’ said Darny sulkily.
Austin was worrying about whether he had time to get Louis a birthday present when he opened the first of the work mail he’d brought home in a rush. He had to stare at it for a couple of minutes before he got his head round it. It was a loan application for a property development initiative marked Kalinga Deniki … all properly filled in, all up to date. He looked at the address. Then he looked at it again. It couldn’t be. It couldn’t be right. Pear Tree Court. But not one number in it: the whole of it. ‘A new paradigm in work/life style, conveniently situated in the heart of buzzing Stoke Newington,’ it said.
