She talks, and they both eat more cookies. I decide to leave them to it. Neither of them notices as I slip back through the hole in the wall to write a post for the blog.
The Secret Cooking Club
May 4
This week has been very sweet—literally! We’ve been making cookies. I remember when I was little and I loved chocolate chip cookies with gooey, moist centers—and even better was eating the dough raw! But nowadays, we’re trying to be a little more grown-up. Yesterday, my friend and I made orange and cranberry shortbread, with lots of butter, and chocolate piping on top (yeah—heart-shaped!). We also made a batch of scrumptious millionaire’s shortbread—with oozy caramel and chocolate on top. Today, we’re going to try making rainbow-colored macarons. In case you aren’t sure what those are (I wasn’t until yesterday), they’re French, and made with ground almonds and egg whites with cream filling in the middle. Or, if you can’t eat nuts, some people make them with pumpkin flour! In the end—the outside should be crispy like meringue, and the inside is—whatever flavor you can dream up! Keep an eye out for the photos!
The Little Cook xx
In a way, it couldn’t have gone better. When I came back to check on them a while later, Violet was in tears, and Fraser had moved around to the other side of the table to sit next to her, and was holding her hand. Mission accomplished!
Seeing me, though, they both looked awkward, and Violet moved her hand away.
“Hi,” I say, wishing I hadn’t disturbed them. “I was just, um…”
“Fraser said he’d go with us,” Violet says. She wipes her eyes with her sleeve and smiles at him.
“Go with us? Where?”
“To the house where I used to live,” Violet says. “I’ve decided that’s what I need to do. So I can get…you know…closure.”
“Really?” I look at Fraser.
“Um, you’re coming too, right?” Violet suddenly looks nervous.
“Well…” If it were a “date,” I would definitely have said no. Some of the awkwardness between me and Nick comes from the fact that we’re almost always around other people, never alone just to talk. But this is a lot more than that. Violet needs me. I’m not really sure what visiting her old house is going to do, but I want to be there for her. “Yeah, sure,” I say. “Maybe I could see if Nick can come too.”
Fraser looks instantly relieved. I’m not sure if that’s a good thing or a bad thing.
“Okay,” he says. “So when are we going?”
“You two work it out,” I say. I grab a piece of millionaire’s shortbread off the plate and pop it in my mouth, hoping it will give me courage. “I’ve got to go and make a phone call.”
* * *
I go up to my room and stare at my phone. But each time I try to make myself dial Producer Poppy’s number, my fingers start to jitter, and I can’t bring myself to press the call button. Eventually, I get annoyed with myself and stab in the digits. Violet’s been facing up to her problems and taking action. I have to do the same.
The phone rings and I start to feel queasy, then hopeful that it might go to voicemail. But after five rings, it’s answered by a breathless, loud female voice. “Hello. Poppy here.”
“Um, hi. This is Scarlett. Um…Claire’s daughter. You left me a message.” My voice rises up like I’m asking a question.
“Scarlett!” she booms. “Great to hear from you. Just give me a sec.” The background noise is muffled as she puts her hand over the phone and moves somewhere quieter. “Sorry,” she says. “We’re in the middle of filming a new dating show for mature women.”
“Oh.”
“But yes, the wedding show. It will be wonderful having you in to bake the cake. Can you come into the studio for a chat and to look around? Meet the team? Now let’s see what I have in the calendar.” There’s the sound of flipping pages. “Here we go. Let’s see, I could do…tomorrow? You could come after school.”
“Um…I…” I need to stand up to her. Tell her that I’m not doing the show unless the whole Secret Cooking Club is on air too, making the wedding feast.
“It’s just that…”
“Just a minute,” Producer Poppy says to someone in the background, clearly in a rush.
“So, Scarlett, shall I put you down for say, four o’clock?”
“Um…”
“Great. This is going to be such fun!”
I end the call, my hands shaking. Why couldn’t I stick to my guns; tell her that at the end of the day, it’s Mom’s wedding, and the Secret Cooking Club is going to be involved no matter what issues some TV station may have with that? Why didn’t I? Why?
With a sigh, I throw the phone down on the bed. I suppose Violet’s right—I do have “stage fright” when it comes to dealing with real people. I don’t want them to know the real me, or wonder about me—it’s fine doing the blog because that’s “The Little Cook,” not Scarlett. Maybe it sounds like I’m splitting hairs, but to me, it makes all the difference in the world. Not to mention the fact that I promised my friends I’d make it happen, and it’s the Secret Cooking Club that deserves the credit for everything we do, not just one person.
I feel like a storm cloud has gathered over my head as I go back downstairs and through the hole in the wall to rejoin Violet and Fraser. To my relief, they still seem to be hitting it off. Fraser is mixing up the fillings for the macarons—mint, strawberry, double chocolate, lavender—and Violet is adding rainbow gel food coloring to the little pots of almond and egg white mixture. It’s like a garden of spring flowers right in the kitchen.
“They look beautiful,” I say.
Violet blushes. “Yeah, it’s been fun. I’m just about to start piping the macarons. Fraser’s going to do the filling. Do you want to help?”
“Okay.” I don’t want to be a third wheel, but baking is just what I need to get over the stress of not dealing with the TV thing.
Violet pipes and Fraser mixes. I put the first batch in the oven, and do some washing up. We chat and laugh, and taste the mixture and the first batch that come out of the oven. It’s fun—as usual.
We make four trays of lovely, rainbow macarons. As they’re cooling on the racks, we start to clean up the kitchen. Then, after carefully piping in the fillings for one of each flavor, it’s the moment we each get to try one. I take a light purple one with lavender crème in the middle. Fraser takes a chocolate one, and Violet a strawberry one. I bite into mine.
“Oh my gosh, this is amazing!” I say. “Even better than the shortbread.”
Violet smiles wistfully. “Yeah. I think so too.”
“Your mom would be proud,” Fraser says.
Violet nods silently. A tear leaks from her eye.
Fraser and I glance at each other. We go back to finish cleaning up to give her some space. Violet eats her second macaron—a light green mint—and puts the rest of the unfilled macarons into a tin. Finally, she turns to me. “How does tomorrow sound?”
“Uh…” I say, feeling like I’m being pulled back to earth. “For what?”
“To visit my old house,” Violet says. “It’s the, um…anniversary. If that’s okay with you, can you check with Nick?”
I think of the wedding, and how Mom’s counting on me. I think of the TV producer and about how the whole idea of being on TV by myself is turning my stomach inside out. I think of Dad, and Em-K, the lies Mom told. All of it flashes before my eyes in a rainbow swirl of macarons.
“Sure,” I say. “Tomorrow it is.”
Chapter 26
Going Too Far
After Fraser and Violet leave, I sit in Rosemary’s kitchen for a while with Treacle on my lap, stroking his velvety black fur. By the time I go through the wall back to our house, it’s after 8:30 p.m. The door to the Mom Cave is closed—which is a relief. Now that I’ve messed up the meeting with the TV producer, I really don’t wan
t a confrontation with Mom.
As I’m about to go to the front room, my sister comes out. “Look, Scarlett!” She points to two big cardboard boxes in the hall. They must have arrived while we were baking because I didn’t see them earlier.
“What are those?” I say.
“Dad came by and dropped them off. You just missed him.”
“Dad? He came here?”
“Yeah, he dropped Mom off and brought in the presents.”
I feel an odd mixture of relief and disappointment that I missed seeing Dad. He’s right—it is easier reading what he has to say rather than talking face-to-face. But eventually, I’ll have to see him again. One thing’s for sure, though—I don’t like the fact that he’s giving Mom rides and bringing presents.
“Where’s Mom now?” I say.
Her face falls. “I don’t know. She said she needed to call Em-K and that I should wait till she’s done to open the box.”
“Okay. I’ll go and see her. Practice your Wii singing, okay?”
“But, Scarlett, I’ve done that already.”
“Fine. Watch TV.”
I close the door to the front room and go back to the kitchen. The door to the Mom Cave is still shut, and I put my ear next to the keyhole, listening.
“Seriously…” Mom is saying, her voice high and unnatural. “Can’t you do this one thing for me?”
Obviously I can’t hear the reply, but there’s the sound of Mom getting up and pacing the room.
“I know it’s a short time. That’s why I’m asking.”
More silence.
“No—absolutely not. I’m doing the TV show. Or else, well…you can forget the whole thing.”
I straighten up and go to the fridge, remembering that I haven’t had any dinner. But in truth, I’m not hungry. I know Mom’s really stressed right now, but these arguments she’s having with Em-K make me really worried. He’s usually very calm and rational when they argue, and Mom seems like a great big bully. Especially now.
“Fine. Be like that.” I hear Mom’s angry words even without listening at the door. Then, there’s the sound of something being thrown. Her phone, probably. I’ve seen it happen before—it’s a wonder it still works.
I put some cheese crackers and a wedge of Applewood smoked cheddar on a plate and go back to the front room.
“Please can I open my box?” Kelsie begs.
“What did Mom say?”
“To wait.”
“Well, then…”
I sit next to my sister on the sofa and we watch a recording of Junior Bake-Off. “I’d love to be on TV,” Kelsie says. “Wouldn’t you?”
“No,” I say between mouthfuls of cheese and crackers. “But I’m sure if you want to when you’re older, Mom would love it.”
“Love what?”
I turn. Mom’s standing at the door. Her hair is messy and she’s wearing an old sweatshirt. It’s the first time I’ve seen her looking so rumpled since she started seeing Em-K.
“Nothing, just talking about being on TV,” I say. “You okay, Mom?”
“Yes, yes.” She waves a hand. “Just the usual. Now, Kels…” She turns to my sister, all smiles. “Let’s see what your dad brought you this time, shall we? He’s so thoughtful!”
Kelsie attacks the box, ripping at the cardboard while Mom tries to undo the tape. I sit back and watch, dreading the moment when it’s my turn to open up the box addressed to me.
“Oh, look, Mom! It’s amazing!” Kelsie pulls out a giant brown teddy bear. It has a tag from the toy store around its neck. It’s almost as big as my sister, and she hugs it, squealing with delight.
“It’s just the one I told him about! Can I call Dad now? I want to say thank you!”
“Sure,” Mom says. I stand, ready to take my plate to the kitchen and head upstairs. The whole thing’s put a sour taste in my mouth—Mom’s fight with Em-K, Kelsie’s delight over the present. Rather than a teddy bear, it’s more like there’s an elephant in the room.
“Aren’t you going to open your box, Scarlett?” Mom says from behind me.
I whirl around, anger swimming in my chest. “No, I’m not.” I keep my voice low and icy. “I don’t need anything from Dad—as in, the man who left us. The man who hurt us, turned his back on us, and sent me five dollars twice a year.” I grip the plate tightly in my hand. “The man who waltzes back into our lives just when you’re supposed to be marrying Em-K. Unless you drive him away too.”
Without meaning to, I’ve gone too far. Mom’s face morphs into something ugly and green.
“How dare you,” she spits. She takes a step toward me, and I shrink back. She raises her hand and takes off her ring. She holds it up to her eye, and it glints in the light. Then, she throws it down on the sofa next to me. It bounces off the cushion and on to the floor.
“You think you’re so smart, Scarlett, don’t you? Always judging me—always complaining. But you don’t know anything about being a grown-up—anything at all!”
My sister buries her face in her bear’s fur, looking like she might cry. I look past her to where the ring is lying on the floor. Mom makes no move to go and pick it up.
I jump up and run out the door.
“That’s it—go on, walk away,” she calls after me. “Leave the rest of us here to muddle through. That’s what you do, isn’t it?”
My whole body is shaking as I stagger up the stairs. Behind me, the door of the front room opens. There’s another loud thunk as Mom heaves the box from Dad out into the hall, and then slams the door.
Chapter 27
Rainbow Macarons
I stay in my room for the rest of the evening, feeling awful. Why did I pick a fight with Mom—and now, of all times? I know I should go down and apologize—try to talk to her and make things right. But I don’t. Half of me expects her to come up, knocking softly on my door the way she often does, asking if we can talk. But she doesn’t.
I take out my phone to call Violet, then put it away again. We’re supposed to be going to the place she used to live tomorrow after school—it’s about an hour away by train. But I’m double-booked with an appointment to see Producer Poppy. I can’t let Violet down—she needs me. But if I don’t turn up at the meeting, then Mom will be breathing fire.
In the end, I feel so conflicted that I don’t cancel either one. I plug my phone into the charger next to my bed, and turn on my computer. Without even a second thought, I click on the mail icon and read the new one that’s come in from Dad:
Hi, Scarlett,
Sorry I missed you earlier. I hope you can make use of the little gift I left for you. I know it’s a lot to ask, but I was wondering—would you be able to come over to my apartment one evening so we can talk, just the two of us?
If you did come, maybe I could cook dinner—or we could even do it together? You may not remember, but I used to love to cook. I was pretty bad at it, I admit, but it was something I always enjoyed doing. The smells and the flavors, mixing things together that seem to belong that way—it’s a wonderful creative outlet for a guy like me who doesn’t have much creativity in the day job. Anyway, it was just a thought. I hope that you’re doing well, and that maybe, one day, we can get together.
Love, Dad
There’s nothing to do about it—I break down in tears, feeling like my heart is about to tear in two. I’m not quite sure why I’m crying, but it seems like something I should have done a long time ago. I never cried when Dad went away—not really. I suppose in a way, I bottled everything up, just like Violet did when her parents were killed. And now, just like she’s facing her demons and her fears, I need to face mine.
I hit reply and type.
Dinner would be nice. Maybe on Saturday?
I press the send key and the little paper airplane symbol zooms off, tearing off a piece of me as it goes.
&nbs
p; * * *
I don’t see Mom the next morning, despite waiting around a little longer at breakfast in the hope she’ll come down. I even go up and listen at the door of her bedroom. From inside, there’s the sound of typing, just like she used to do in the old days on Friday mornings when her blog post telling the world the gory details of my life would go live at 8 a.m. I want to knock—say sorry, try to patch things up. But just then, Kelsie yells from downstairs that she can’t find her PE bag, so to avoid being late for school, I decide to leave it.
On my way out, I go through the hole in the wall and get the tin of macarons. I helped Violet make a sign: IN MEMORY. We’ll fill them at school and leave them in the cafeteria at lunch. There’s also plenty of extra for us to eat on the train and, if anyone answers the door at Violet’s old house, we’ll offer them some too. I tuck the tin under my arm and herd Kelsie out the door. We both have to squeeze past the large box in the hall from Dad that I still haven’t opened.
* * *
Unsurprisingly, Violet looks worried and stressed all through the day at school. I corner her after lunch in the girls’ bathroom. “Are you sure you want to do this?” I say. “You don’t have to.”
She looks at herself in the mirror, wincing at the dark circles under her eyes and pinching her cheeks to add some color.
“I don’t know if I have to or not,” she says. “But I’m going to.” She turns to me. “Thanks for coming along. I mean, I’m kind of regretting inviting Fraser. Weird date, huh?”
I laugh. “Maybe. But this will be a good test. See if he’s worth it?”
“Yeah, I guess. You and Nick okay?”
I think about the question. When I’d texted him about the trip, he’d had something going on—rugby or science club or cross-country—I can’t quite remember which. Since baking Dad’s cake—which seems like ages ago—I’ve barely seen Nick other than to say hello in the halls. So I was really glad when he said he’d skip his other thing and come along.
Cake and Confessions Page 12
