Confetti & Cake

by Laurel Remington

  ‘Mum, I’m hungry!’ the little boy shouts.

  ‘Can we have pizza?’ the girl says.

  ‘Sorry, but . . .’ the woman shakes her head, clearly eager to get inside. ‘I mean, do you want to come in or something?’

  Violet turns back to the woman. ‘No, that’s OK. Really. I’ve seen what I need to see.’ A spark seems to have returned to her eyes. ‘And I think someone’s hungry!’

  She winks at the two small children.

  ‘Were you eating biscuits?’ The boy asks her.

  ‘Oh . . . maybe.’ Violet grins.

  ‘Mum, can we have a biscuit after dinner?’

  ‘I don’t know . . . we’ll see.’ The woman unlocks the door. The two children run inside. ‘Are you sure you don’t want to come in?’

  ‘I’m sure.’ Violet grabs my hand and squeezes it. I’m not quite sure what has – or hasn’t – happened, but I know she means it.

  ‘OK.’ The woman doesn’t quite manage to hide her relief. She’s obviously got her hands full without uninvited visitors. She lifts the shopping inside the door. ‘Well, goodbye then.’ She smiles at Violet and closes the door.

  ‘Are you sure you don’t want to go inside, Violet?’ Fraser looks a little distressed. ‘I mean, she said you could – at least for a few minutes. To see your room or whatever.’

  ‘Really, it’s OK.’ She rests her hand lightly on his arm. ‘I’ve got what I came for. I can’t really explain it, but I feel a lot better. I mean, there’s a new family in the house now. That’s a good thing, I think. Now they can have happy memories there too.’

  ‘OK . . .’ Fraser hesitates.

  ‘But there is one thing. Scarlett, do you think you can spare this tin?’

  I smile, knowing exactly what she wants to do.

  ‘I think I can.’

  I take the tin from her hand, and go up to the front door. I leave it on the mat and ring the bell. Then the four of us run off down the road and out of sight.

  Turning a corner

  As we stand at the bus stop waiting for the bus, none of us really speaks. Nick and Fraser look a little shell-shocked, but I sense that for Violet, a kind of peace has set in.

  ‘Is there anything else you want to do?’ I say, softly, so only she can hear.

  ‘Yeah.’ She grins. ‘I want to go home.’

  I nod, smiling too. I guess that by coming here to her old house, she’s turned a corner. Some of her memories are painful, but there are happy ones too. Maybe today has helped her see that – that for her, closure is about seeing the whole picture, not just the bad stuff. And maybe that’s what I need to do too – with Dad, and Mum. So many times I’ve wished I had a recipe to deal with all the changes; all the things I can’t control. But I know that doesn’t exist. One thing I can do is face up to things the way Violet’s done. Knowing that, though, doesn’t make it a lot easier to do in reality.

  We’ve already got our return tickets, so when we reach the station, the four of us go through the barrier to wait on the platform. I look up at the board – the train’s delayed by forty-five minutes due to a signal failure.

  ‘Bad luck,’ Fraser says pacing a few steps down the platform.

  ‘Yeah,’ I say.

  Violet looks up from the screen of her phone. ‘Um Scarlett?’ she says. ‘You told your mum where you were going, right?’

  ‘Not exactly,’ I say. My stomach knots. Coming here today might have helped Violet ditch her bag of worries – but now I feel like it’s me who’s carrying the extra weight.

  Nick, who also has his phone out, takes it away from his ear. ‘She seems a little upset,’ he answers for Violet. ‘I got a text and a couple of voicemails. Did you forget your phone?’

  ‘Yeah,’ I sigh. ‘I guess I did.’

  Violet raises her eyebrows. She knows good and well that I’m never without my phone and must have ‘forgotten’ it on purpose. Which isn’t exactly true. After last night – the row with Mum, the thrown ring, the message from Producer Poppy, and the email to Dad – I plugged it in next to my bed to charge. And this morning, I ‘managed’ to leave it behind. One meeting with Producer Poppy – sorted.

  ‘You’d better listen to her messages.’ Violet holds out her phone. I take it, and press the play button.

  In the first message, Mum just sounds annoyed:

  Violet – have you seen Scarlett? She’s supposed to be at a meeting at the TV station. Right now.

  In the second, the annoyance is mixed with concern.

  Violet – Scarlett’s phone is in her room. I don’t know where she is. I’ll try Nick too. Call me if you’ve seen her.

  And in the third, it’s genuine concern.

  Violet? Are you there? Why are none of you answering? I’m worried. We had a bit of a row last night. If I don’t hear from her by six, I’m calling the police.

  I check my watch. Five minutes to six. I dial her number. It immediately goes to voicemail.

  ‘Hi Mum,’ I say. ‘I’m fine. You don’t need to call the police. Sorry I missed the meeting – I umm . . . forgot.’

  My three friends are looking at me. I end the call.

  ‘Sounds like you’re in it,’ Nick says, his grin mischievous.

  ‘I was supposed to meet Producer Poppy.’ I take a breath. ‘I didn’t want to say anything, but she didn’t like the idea of the whole club being on TV. Something about it being too much work for the TV station, or something. I need to convince her. But I’ve . . . well . . . kind of been avoiding the whole thing.’

  Nick brushes my hand lightly. I feel a spark jump between us. ‘Look Scarlett. This TV thing isn’t worth getting stressed about. It would have been fun, but it’s really no big deal.’

  ‘But Gretchen . . .’

  ‘. . . will get over it,’ Violet finishes.

  Fraser nods. ‘We can still do the menu. For something else. My sister is getting married next year. Maybe we can surprise her with a spread from The Secret Cooking Club.’

  ‘Maybe.’ Violet smiles at him, her eyes melty.

  ‘Thanks,’ I say. ‘But I’m not giving up that easily. I will phone her and get this sorted.’

  A notice flashes up on the board – the train is delayed by another thirty minutes.

  ‘We’d better get comfortable,’ Fraser says. He points to the waiting room, and we all troop inside to sit down. When, at six o’clock, Mum still hasn’t called back, I borrow Nick’s phone and try ringing her again. Once again, I get her voicemail.

  I decide to try Em-K. The phone rings several times, and just as I’m waiting for the click of voice-mail, he answers.

  ‘Emory Kruffs,’ he answers in his deep Em-Pee voice. ‘How can I help you?’

  ‘Hi Em-K, it’s me.’

  ‘Scarlett! Where are you? Your mum’s frantic.’

  ‘Sorry!’ I say. ‘I left my phone at home. I’m . . . uh . . . we’re at the station.’ I tell him where.

  ‘Your mum’s out driving around looking for you. She’s called all your friends. Your dad too. How could you be so inconsiderate? She . . .’ he hesitates, ‘she thought you’d run away.’

  ‘Run away? No!’

  ‘She said you and she had a row.’

  ‘That was last night!’ I protest. ‘Sorry, Em-K. Really I am. But I promised Violet I’d go with her to . . .’ I glance over at my friend, ‘. . . never mind. Anyway, we’re at the station now but the train is delayed.’ I look up at the board. It’s now showing a fifty-three-minute delay. But just then, the announcer comes over the loudspeaker. I am sorry to announce that the 17.55 Great Western Railway Service is cancelled.

  ‘Um actually, it’s cancelled,’ I say.

  He gives a long sigh. ‘I guess I’ll have to come and collect you then.’

  ‘Would you? That’d be great.’

  ‘I should be there in forty-five minutes, depending on traffic. Get yourself some dinner – I’ll pay for it. Because when you get home, I don’t think anyone’s going to feel like cooking
.’

  ‘Sure,’ I say, warily. ‘Thanks.’

  I end the call, knowing that I’m seriously in the doghouse. But part of me feels good as well. That I’ve got someone like Em-K to look out for me.

  ‘Let’s go and get some dinner,’ I say. ‘Em-K’s paying. He’s coming to collect us.’

  ‘Good,’ Nick says. ‘I’m starving.’

  Another row

  I’m expecting to be deep in it when I get home. It’s almost eight-thirty by the time Em-K has dropped off my friends and we pull up outside our house. In the car, we told him all about where we went, and why. He seemed more proud of us than angry (though he did give me a ticking off for worrying Mum, which is fair enough, I guess).

  When the two of us come into the house, Mum is standing at the door like she’s been waiting for us there the whole time (though I can hear the sound of the TV coming from the front room). ‘Scarlett,’ she says, giving me a hug. ‘I was so worried.’

  ‘Sorry, Mum,’ I say. ‘I forgot my phone.’

  Ignoring me, she looks at Em-K. ‘You sure took your time.’

  A wounded look crosses his face. ‘I had to drop off the other kids,’ he says.

  Mum holds up her hand. ‘I’m not even going to ask.’ She turns back to me. ‘Your dad and I were frantic with worry.’

  ‘Dad?’ The word comes out of my mouth before I can stop it. I look again at Em-K. His lips form a thin line.

  ‘Well, of course,’ she says, frowning. The good feeling she’s had at seeing me back is obviously starting to wear off. ‘Your dad loves you. He wanted to call the police. I told him you’re sensible and wouldn’t do anything stupid.’

  ‘That’s right, Mum, I wouldn’t.’ I turn to Em-K. ‘I’m sorry you had to spend your whole evening collecting us. Can I put the kettle on for you?’

  He looks questioningly at Mum. ‘Claire?’

  ‘Go on, the pair of you.’ She shakes her head, clearly exasperated. ‘I’m going up to bed. This has all just been one more thing I don’t need.’

  Em-K turns to me. ‘Thanks for the offer, but I think I’d better be going.’ There’s hurt and anger in his voice.

  With a disinterested shrug, Mum stalks back into the front room without saying goodbye. Em-K and I stand there without moving as she calls Dad. She tells him that I’m home, and I’m expecting her to end the call. But she doesn’t.

  ‘Bye, Scarlett.’ Em-K turns and opens the front door. ‘Sleep well.’

  My throat wells up. ‘Thanks Em-K,’ I say. ‘See you soon.’

  He doesn’t answer or look at me as he goes out of the door.

  I stand there in the hall, feeling like I’m on the edge of a tall building, looking over the edge. In the other room, Mum is still on the phone with Dad. They talk for what seems like for ever, and whatever he says makes her laugh. I can’t listen any more. I go into the kitchen and boil the kettle to make some instant hot chocolate. No matter how ‘worried’ Mum and Dad were about me, it’s Em-K who came to collect us, and he’s the one who Mum will barely even talk to. It strikes me that maybe Mum is making history repeat itself. No wonder Dad left if he was being treated like that.

  Eventually, Mum comes into the kitchen. Now that there’s no one else around, her worry has turned to irritation. ‘Never do that again, Scarlett,’ she says icily.

  ‘I’m sorry, Mum.’ I grip the hot cup tightly in my hand. The last thing I want is another row.

  ‘I spoke with Poppy. She wants you in the studio on Sunday to do the filming. And I don’t want to hear that you’re messing about with your friends, or visiting old people’s homes, or whatever. I’ll drive you there myself.’

  ‘Sunday! But that’s only two days—’

  Ignoring me, Mum leaves the kitchen, slamming the door. I push my cup away – there are some things that even hot chocolate can’t fix.

  Wedding tiers

  Iwake up early the next morning – Saturday – with my pulse racing. I’m supposed to go on TV to make the wedding cake – tomorrow! I haven’t even done a trial run on the whole cake yet, and I also haven’t spoken to Producer Poppy to plead with her that my friends be allowed to join me.

  Last night Mum was so angry. I feel like we’re back to the old days when we couldn’t talk to each other, and don’t understand each other. The only way I know to make things right is to do the TV show. I can’t possibly back out now.

  I go downstairs and make a piece of toast, but my mouth is so dry that it tastes like cardboard. I wash it down with a glass of orange juice and try to pull myself together. I’ll do a practice bake of the cake today. Mum is supposed to be going shopping, but luckily she didn’t ask me to go. And as for the rest – we’ll just have to see.

  When I’ve finished washing up my dishes, I go through the hole in the wall to Rosemary’s Kitchen. As I push aside the curtain of plastic bin bags, I wonder if things will work out and eventually someone will put up a door? Or will the wall be bricked up and plastered over?

  As usual, it’s warm and quiet, except for the hum of the fridge. I can do this. I’ve baked so many cakes in this kitchen, experimented with so many recipes, there’s no reason for me to feel nervous and on edge. But I do.

  Treacle is in his basket licking his paws. ‘I can do this,’ I say aloud. He raises his head and flicks his tail. I text Violet. She might want to talk after our trip yesterday. Closure or no, it can’t be easy coming to grips with the things that have haunted her for so long. And, from a purely selfish perspective, I could use her decorating skills. I’ve decided to make little fondant icing figures of Mum and Em-K for the top of the cake. The rest of the decorations will be flowers made of sugar paste, and some real edible flowers sprinkled with sugar and glitter. When I described it to Violet before, she made a sketch in her little drawing notebook. It was so beautiful – I could really use the inspiration now.

  I take our special recipe book off the shelf of cookbooks and open the red and green marbled cover, flipping through to the recipes for cakes. Though Violet and I had joked about a six-tier cake, for today, at least, I’m going to practise one of the flavours we’ve decided on: the lemon and lavender sponge sandwich cake with fresh strawberries and cream in the centre. I’d been looking forward to trying out the recipe – and tasting the cake! But this morning, I can’t seem to shift the unsettled feeling in my stomach. Mum, Em-K . . . Dad . . . I need to push all the doubts out of my mind.

  I cream together butter and sugar with a wooden spoon, adding the eggs one at a time and beating them into the mixture. I’ve started to measure out the flour when I hear Mum’s voice coming through the hole in the wall. She sounds stressed and harried. I assume she’s trying to get Kelsie to hurry up and get ready, but then I hear a man’s voice – Em-K. I stop what I’m doing.

  ‘I don’t know what’s up with you, Claire,’ he’s saying. ‘But whatever it is, it’s got to stop. We’re supposed to be getting married – and it’s like I hardly know you.’

  I add a teaspoon of baking powder to the flour and stir it in.

  ‘This isn’t a good time, Emory. We were just on our way out.’

  I sift the flour into the egg mixture, folding carefully and adding the lavender and lemon zest. I check the recipe again. Flour, sugar, butter, eggs, baking powder . . .

  ‘I know you’re stressed, and that the wedding is taking up all your time. But we didn’t have to do it so fast. I never wanted a big wedding, as you know . . .’

  I’ve missed something – what is it? Baking powder? I add a teaspoon and stir it in. On the table in front of me, my phone vibrates. I stop mixing and check the screen. It’s Violet, texting back, asking if she should come over later. Yes please! I reply.

  Mum’s yelling now. ‘No, of course you didn’t want it, Emory. You want a wife who cooks your dinner and irons your shirts, and who looks pretty standing behind you at political events.’

  ‘You know that isn’t true! If I wanted that, I would never have asked you to marry me.’
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br />   My hands are trembling as I finish stirring and pour the mixture into two round baking tins.

  ‘Great – so you’re saying I’m not good enough for you?’

  ‘No – that’s not what I’m saying. But this is madness. Let’s forget this whole big wedding,’ Em-K says. ‘Let’s elope – we’ll go to the registry office with the girls and a few friends. Then we can have a nice lunch out, and we won’t have all the stress.’

  ‘A nice lunch out!’ Mum’s voice is high-pitched and furious. Treacle jerks awake, the fur on his back raised. He runs out of the back door through his cat flap. I can hardly blame him. I put the cakes in the oven, and pace back and forth in front of the oven, trying not to listen.

  ‘Is that all I mean to you?’ Mum is saying. ‘Because if that’s the case, why are we even doing this?’

  I need to find something to distract me, so I sit down at the table and open the pack of fondant icing. It was really lucky that I was able to find a pack of twelve different colours, including light pink, black, brown and white. I roll the fondant in my palms and mould two heads, and four round balls for hands out of the light pink colour.

  ‘Well, it’s obvious that there’s nothing that I can say to reassure you.’ Em-K replies. ‘So why don’t you go and ask him? He seems to be the only one you’ll talk to right now!’

  I put on two green eyes and red pouty lips for Mum, and blue eyes for Em-K. Then I make the hair, rolling the fondant out into long, thin snakes in my hand. Black hair for Em-K, long brown hair with a few yellow highlights for Mum.

  Mum gives that awful laugh. ‘I’m not going to apologize for that. He was my husband – the father of my kids.’

  ‘No, you won’t be apologizing, will you? Because nothing is ever your fault, Claire, is it?’

  I do Mum’s dress which is pretty easy to make – all white and puffy. I’ll cover it with glitter or something. When I’ve finished, I prop the little figures up against the cookbook stand. To be honest, they look pretty rubbish. Hopefully Violet or one of the others can make something better. But for now, they’ll do.