Mum and Em-K keep arguing, and I keep trying not to listen. The smell of the cakes baking – normally one of my favourite scents in the whole world – is making me feel nauseous.
I check the clock. It’s been twenty minutes, so I decide to open the oven.
Steam pours out when I open the oven door. I close my eyes and try to enjoy the warm scent of lavender and lemon. But when I open my eyes, I realize the middle of the cakes are cone-shaped and swollen like a volcano ready to erupt.
The dread in my stomach rises as I reach inside the oven and pull out the shelf. The breath goes out of me like a punctured balloon. The cakes . . . my beautiful cakes . . .
The edges are just browned on top – perfectly baked from the look of things. But the middles now look like two meteors have crashed down from the sky and landed right in the centre. I’ve never had a cake collapse before. And if there’s a first time for everything, it couldn’t possibly have come at a worse moment.
‘We need to go. And so do you,’ Mum is saying.
Hot, salty tears flood my eyes. It’s not a disaster. I’ll just start over – it will only take twenty minutes to whip up the mixture, and this time, I’ll make sure not to get distracted; use the right amount of baking powder. The new cakes won’t over-rise like a doughy volcano, collapsing in on themselves at the last second. I’ll just pretend that none of this ever happened . . .
‘Fine, I’ll go. Goodbye.’
I dump the collapsed cakes in the bin. I don’t even feel like trying a tiny bite to see if they tasted good. I go back over to the mixing bowl and the ingredients set out on the table. Instead of getting back to work, I sit down and put my head in my hands.
In the other room, the front door slams. The little figure of the bride stares up at me. I’ve got extra light pink fondant, so I roll another head. For the hair, I combine yellow and brown – darkish blonde like mine. I consider making another dark suit, but then think, why bother? If I need to, I can just change the head at the last minute. Because right now, the only thing I can do is to try to be prepared . . .
For whichever one of them is going to be my ‘new dad’.
The big collapse
6 May
I want to set the record straight about something. When I read over the posts I’ve written in the last few months, it sounds like everything is perfect, and that everything I bake is delicious and amazing. But you know what – that’s not true. I love to cook and I do find it relaxing, fun and creative. But I’ve got problems just like everyone else, and cake can’t solve everything.
Speaking of cake . . . I did a practice of Mum’s wedding cake earlier today. It was, I’m sorry to say, a complete disaster. I used too much baking powder and the whole top exploded in the oven and then collapsed. I guess I’m lucky that it wasn’t the real thing – I’ll have another chance to get it right.
But the point is, sometimes things like that happen. All we can do, I guess, is try again, and not give up. I should have taken a photo of the exploded cake to show you, but I was too upset and threw it in the bin. Sorry . . .
The Little Cook xx
The house feels like someone’s died – it’s very quiet and still. Mum and Kelsie go out to the shops. When Violet arrives, I tell her everything that happened in the short time since we saw each other last – the collapsed cake, the filming tomorrow – and about the arguments between Mum and Em-K.
‘I’m not sure if she threw him out, or if he stormed out – or a little of both,’ I say, my voice high and strained. ‘Either way, he’s gone.’
‘So do you still have to do the TV show?’ Violet says, her brow furrowed in concern. ‘I mean, is the wedding still on?’
‘I don’t know!’ I say. My head feels like it’s going to explode. ‘The whole thing is just so mental. I mean, Mum was so happy when Em-K proposed. And now it’s gone pear-shaped. All I know is that I’ve committed to go to the TV studio tomorrow, and if I don’t do that, then I may as well pack my bags.’
‘Hey,’ Violet says. She takes my hand and squeezes it. ‘It’s going to be OK.’
Tears begin to prickle in my eyes. ‘But what if it isn’t?’ I blurt out. ‘I mean, I probably shouldn’t care – it’s not like I’m the one getting married. It’s just, I like Em-K, and he’s good for Mum – for us. Things are . . . I don’t know . . . normal when he’s around. Less insane. And besides, what if . . .’ I trail off.
‘What if what?’
I stare at her for a long time without speaking. She’s been through so much more than I ever have, and she’s so brave. I wish some of that could rub off on me. But if it’s ever going to, then I have to start facing things head on. Like she did.
‘What if Mum is still in love with Dad?’ I say. ‘What if Dad’s come back into our lives to split up Mum and Em-K? What if Dad comes back, and then leaves us again? What will Mum be like if Dad comes back?’
Violet shakes her head. ‘I can’t answer that,’ she says. ‘But whatever they’re doing, it isn’t fair. I mean, we have enough to worry about with school, and boys and stuff, without worrying about grownups and their problems, don’t we?’
‘You’re so brave, Violet,’ I say. ‘And I was so proud of you yesterday. I’m not half as strong as you are.’
She blinks away a tear glittering like a crystal at the corner of her eye. ‘It was hard,’ she says. ‘But I’m glad I did it. Going there helped remind me of the good times that we had, but it also showed me that there’s no going back. All I can do now is move on.’
‘You’ll be fine,’ I say. ‘And Fraser – if he’s worth anything, he’ll totally see what a great person you are.’
She brightens instantly. ‘Guess what?’ she says. ‘He texted me this morning. He’s asked me to the spring food fair in Broxton with him and his mum. It’s next weekend.’
‘That’s great!’ I grin. ‘I’m so happy for you. It will be completely fab! I just know it.’
‘Thanks,’ she beams. ‘He said that he was proud of me too.’
‘I’m sure. And take some photos of what you see at the food fair. Who knows, maybe you’ll get some last-minute ideas for the wedding . . .’ I hesitate. ‘That is, if there is a wedding.’
She straightens up. ‘You need to talk to them, Scarlett,’ she says. ‘It’s the only way. There’s no sense worrying about it until you know what everyone’s thinking.’
‘You’re right.’ I sigh. ‘But Mum’s out, and Em-K . . . well, I don’t think I should ring him till I’ve talked to Mum. I don’t want to put my foot in it. But maybe . . .’ I take a breath as my chest tightens with nerves, ‘. . . I could talk to Dad. He asked me if I wanted to come for dinner at his flat.’
‘That’s a good place to start,’ Violet says. ‘You can ask him what he’s doing, waltzing in like that and making a hash of everything.’
‘Yeah,’ I say, feeling stronger now. ‘That’s exactly what I’m going to do. I’ll text him right now.’ I take out my phone. ‘The sooner it’s over with, the better.’
I text Dad asking if we’re on for tonight. He replies almost immediately. If it’s OK with your mother, it’s great for me! Unless I hear otherwise, I’ll come round and collect you about 6. Dad xx
As soon as the plans are made, I instantly regret it.
‘Come on, Scarlett,’ Violet says. ‘Chin up. Why don’t we go and make something for you to bring over for pudding? A peace offering.’
‘OK.’ I sigh. ‘But you pick something.’
‘Fine. Let’s go.’
Eton Mess
At ten minutes to six, I look out of the window of the front room, clutching for dear life the plastic container with the Eton mess Violet and I made earlier. While it was fun making the pudding, any brave feeling I had then is long gone. The only saving grace was that Mum was so preoccupied with her own problems when she got home from shopping that it barely even registered when I said I wanted to go over to Dad’s tonight. ‘Fine,’ she’d said. She’d disappeared into the
Mum Cave, and that was that.
Not the case, though, for my sister. She opened the box Dad left for me, which turned out to be a fake leopard fur-covered beanbag chair. I don’t really want to like it, but I do – and so does my sister. The beanbag is so big, fluffy and soft that I can barely see my sister sitting in it, but I hear her loud and clear as she slams her Wii controller down on to the floor. ‘Please Scarlett,’ she begs in a whiny voice, ‘I really want to come too.’
‘No,’ I say firmly. ‘Dad’s taking you to the shop to get a scooter tomorrow. Tonight is just me and him.’
‘It’s not fair!’ My sister pouts. She obviously thinks I’m seeing Dad because I want to hang out with him, rather than to confront him.
A car pulls up to the house.
Kelsie bolts outside before I can stop her.
‘Kelsie!’ I yell.
She runs up to the car and when Dad gets out, she gives him a big hug. He lifts her up and gives her a kiss, then sets her back down. ‘Please, Daddy, can I come too?’ she asks, giving him her best droopy puppy-dog eyes. Dad looks up and sees me standing on the path, stony-faced.
‘No, Kels,’ he says, ruffling her hair. ‘I’ll see you tomorrow. Tonight, I want to spend some time with your sister.’
‘You’re so mean!’ Kelsie yells, stamping her foot like she’s some kind of toddler.
‘Kelsie, come here!’
I turn. Mum’s standing at the door. I scan her face, holding my breath as I wait to see how she’s going to act around Dad.
‘I hate you!’ Kelsie runs up the path to the house and storms inside past Mum.
‘See you later, Claire,’ Dad says. ‘I’ll drop her back about nine, if that’s OK.’
‘Fine.’
I’m relieved that Mum doesn’t stick around to chat. Relieved, that is, until she’s gone – back into the house – and I’m left standing next to the car. Alone with Dad.
‘Hi,’ I say, my voice hoarse.
‘It’s good to see you, Scarlett.’ His tone is matter-of-fact, not all gushy. That, at least, I appreciate.
‘Yeah.’
He holds the door open for me to get in the car. As we drive off, I can see Kelsie’s face pressed to the window in the front room. More than anything, I wish I was there and she was here.
It’s only about a ten-minute drive from our house to Dad’s new flat. It feels odd to think that he’s so close by, and yet he might as well be a universe away. We chat a little as he drives. He asks me about school, and what subjects I like. I tell him I like history and science, and I don’t like speech and drama.
‘I used to like history and science too,’ he says. ‘And luckily, I never had to do any of that drama stuff.’ He beams at me. I briefly smile back.
I ask him how work is. He answers that his job is less stressful than the London job was, and he likes the project with the TV station. I feel like we’re doing a kind of dance – circling around the real issues, neither of us wanting to move beyond small talk. But, somehow, I get the sense that he’s as nervous as I am.
Eventually he pulls up on a little street near to where Alison lives. The houses are made of brick, with tiny front gardens, some that have been paved over for car parking spaces. He pulls up into a space on the street. ‘Here we are,’ he says. ‘Home, sweet home.’
He leads the way though a little gate. His front garden is filled with stones, and in the centre there’s a tree that’s sprouting green leaves. The top part of the house is painted white. It looks neat and tidy – much more so than our house. He unlocks the front door and I follow him inside to a hallway with black and white tiles on the floor. ‘There’s a studio flat down here,’ he says, pointing to a door off the hall. ‘I’ve got the top two floors.’
I don’t say anything as I climb the stairs behind him. At the top of the stairs is a little landing. He unlocks the door to the flat.
The flat is bigger than it looks from the outside. The whole first floor is open plan with a big window in the front overlooking the street. At the back is a good-sized kitchen and a little dining area. The kitchen overlooks a garden at the back. I can see the other gardens of the nearby houses and, a little way down, a church steeple.
‘It’s nice,’ I say, meaning it. The room is painted a creamy white colour, and Dad has only a few pieces of furniture, but it seems like enough. I recognize an old rug from Peru hanging on the wall – it used to be in our old house. There’s also some framed school portraits of Kelsie and me up on the wall. There are no pictures of Mum or of us as a family.
‘I like it,’ he says. ‘It suits me. I have everything I need, and there’s two bedrooms upstairs. One is my study. I can do quite a lot of work at home. Plus . . .’ he winks, ‘there’s a fantastic little Indian takeaway just around the corner.’
‘Sounds good.’ I feel something building inside me like a wave. I like this flat. I could see myself coming here sometimes. Doing my homework, having some peace and quiet. Someplace where there isn’t a lot of stuff everywhere, and where the TV isn’t on all the time, and where I don’t have to worry about what kind of mood Mum’s in, or about my sister annoying me . . .
But that future – one where Dad’s a part of my life – isn’t going to happen. It can’t happen. Not until I find out why I’m here, and why now.
‘Would you like a drink?’ Dad asks. ‘I’ve got squash, and tea, and Diet Coke. Or water.’
‘No.’ I walk over to him. ‘I don’t want anything. Not until we talk.’
He nods gravely. ‘I understand.’ He sits down at the table. I sit opposite him. I feel like I’m a policewoman and he’s a criminal, or maybe it’s the other way around.
‘Ever since you’ve come back, things have gone pear-shaped,’ I say. ‘Mum was happy – she was going to marry Em-K. She and I were getting along. Kelsie was getting used to the idea of a new step-dad – and she loved the idea of being a bridesmaid.
‘But now . . .’ I take a breath. ‘I don’t know. They’re fighting all the time, and she’s being really horrible to him.’
‘Isn’t that just wedding nerves?’
‘I want to know if you’re trying to stir things up. Make her not marry Em-K. I want to know if you’re trying to come back in our lives.’ I break off, feeling tears well up in my eyes. I’ve said way too much. Mum will probably string me up.
Dad is silent for a long moment. He stares down at his hands. ‘Scarlett, I promise you, I am not trying to “stir things up”. That’s not why I moved back here. I love you and your sister, and your mother too – she was my wife and is the mother of my two girls.’ He smiles. I don’t smile back.
‘I realized that I’d made a mistake long before your mum told me that she was remarrying.’
I shift in my chair, uncomfortable.
He holds up a hand. ‘Not a mistake in letting your mum get on with her life. Things were never going to work out between us. I’m sorry to say that, but it’s the truth.’
I nod mutely.
‘The mistake was leaving like I did. Without accounting for the impact it would have on you, and then moving so far away.’ He sighs. ‘I guess I thought that would make the break easier. And in some ways, maybe it did. But there wasn’t a day gone by when I didn’t wonder about you and your sister, and how you were getting on . . . and miss you.’ His voice catches.
‘So to answer your question, Scarlett, I do want to be back in your life. Though I have no right to think that you’ll want me or have me.’ He smiles sadly. ‘I’d love to be able to see you from time to time. Maybe even cook with you. Believe it or not, I used to love to cook.’
‘You mentioned that in your email.’
‘Yes,’ he smiles. ‘Not that I was very good at it, mind. But that’s not what matters. It was the process I liked. Adding a little of this, a little of that – and getting something completely different at the end, if that makes sense.’
It makes perfect sense. ‘You made spaghetti bolognese once,’ I say. ‘I remember
. It was good.’
‘That’s what I was going to make tonight. It’s my “speciality dish”.’ He holds up his hand and whispers. ‘More like, the only thing I can guarantee will be edible.’
‘Sure.’
‘Or we could order out – or go out. Whatever you want. I’m just happy that you’re here.’
‘So, you don’t want to marry Mum again?’ I say. Right now, I’m not sure how whatever he answers will make me feel.
He shakes his head. ‘There’s a Buddhist saying that “you can’t step twice into the same river”. Your mum and I had our chance. It didn’t work out. I’m happy that she’s happy with Emory.’
‘Well . . . I thought she was. But I know that the two of you have been talking a lot – going for coffee. It seemed weird – and I know it bothers Em-K.’
Dad sighs. ‘That was probably a bad idea. But she said she didn’t have many friends, and wanted someone to talk to other than the groom-to-be. And she also wanted to clear the air about what happened between us. To try and make sure that history doesn’t repeat itself.’ He smiles. ‘Not that I think it will. Em-K seems a much more sensible chap than I am.’
‘I guess it’s nice if you can be friends – as long as that’s all you are.’
‘Scarlett . . .’ he looks me straight in the eye. ‘That’s all we are – I promise.’
‘OK.’ I risk a smile. ‘Thanks . . . Dad.’
A new member
Dad chops vegetables and I cook the mince. When that’s done, we put everything into a pot, add salt, pepper, tomatoes, oregano and plenty of garlic, and I stir the bolognese sauce over low heat. We chat a little about cooking – what my favourite things are to cook – what his are – and about The Secret Cooking Club.
‘Your friends sound very special,’ he says. He puts a pan of water on the hob to boil.
‘They are. And we were all set to cook the wedding food too.’ I tell him all about the menu we wanted to do, and how we wanted to get as many kids helping us as we could. I tell him about Annabel Greene and how keen she was to help. Then I tell him about Producer Poppy and how what we wanted to do ‘just won’t work’.
Confetti & Cake Page 14
