Confetti & Cake

by Laurel Remington

  ‘Why not?’ Dad says, frowning.

  ‘I don’t know. She says it will be too complicated and they aren’t “equipped” for that.’

  ‘But they have a whole TV studio that’s a kitchen. I’ve seen it.’

  ‘I’m supposed to be going there tomorrow,’ I say, suddenly breathless. ‘But to be honest, I’m petrified.’ I tell him about my stage fright and about how ever since Mum put me in the spotlight with her blog, I’ve hated the idea of people knowing stuff about me.

  ‘That’s understandable.’ He sounds like he’s thinking over what I’ve been saying. One thing I never realized before – Dad’s a pretty good listener.

  ‘You think so?’

  ‘I think you should stick to your guns. You’ll do the show with your friends, but not on your own. If that’s what you want.’

  ‘That’s what I want.’

  ‘Do you think you could get them to come along with you tomorrow? It’s pretty short notice.’

  ‘I don’t know. I could try. We often meet on Sundays anyway.’

  ‘If you want to make a few calls, I can finish up the food.’

  ‘But what about the producer?’

  He gives a cryptic smile. ‘I’ve been doing some work at the TV station – as you know. I’ve run into Poppy before. I could make a call or two after supper, if you like.’

  He winks at me, and somehow, I get the idea that he knows her better than he’s letting on. ‘Really?’ I say, ‘Do you think that will work?’

  ‘I can’t promise anything, but it’s worth a try.’

  While Dad’s making a green salad, I give Gretchen a quick call. She’s in the middle of cooking dinner with her mum, so I explain quickly what I need her to do. To her credit, she doesn’t ask a lot of questions – or any, really. ‘Leave it with me,’ she says. And I do.

  Finally, the pasta’s ready. I lay the table, and Dad brings the dishes over. The pasta and sauce are steaming when he takes off the lids.

  ‘It smells good,’ I say.

  ‘I think the ingredients make a difference. I got these vegetables from a little organic market near work. Next year, I’m hoping to grow some in the garden.’

  ‘Cool,’ I say.

  We serve ourselves and I take a bite of the spaghetti cooked just right, and the sauce – a little bit more garlicky than my friends and I usually make it.

  ‘Maybe we could do this for Mum and Kelsie sometime,’ I say.

  ‘I’d like that,’ Dad says. ‘And Emory too. Unless you think that would be too weird.’

  ‘I don’t know. I guess we’ll need to see what happens.’

  Dad takes a big bite of pasta and chews it thoughtfully. ‘Do you want me to have a word with your mum? About . . . what we talked about?’

  ‘No – not yet. Give me a chance to do it first.’

  Dad agrees. We each have seconds of spaghetti and salad, and then he tries the pudding that Violet and I made. Even though it was easy to make – all we did was mix together strawberries, cream and little broken-up pieces of meringue – the textures are really good together, and it’s light and fresh.

  ‘Delicious,’ Dad says, after taking a huge bite. He smiles. ‘I’d like to say you got your cooking talent from me, but I could never do anything like this!’

  I laugh. ‘You might be able to if you check out the recipe on the website. We try to keep things as simple as possible so anyone can make them.’

  ‘You mean you’d have me as a member of The Secret Cooking Club?’

  I smile proudly. ‘“The Little Cook” already has thousands of followers,’ I say. ‘But between you and me, she’s always happy when one more person joins up.’

  A monster banished

  6 May

  Guess what? My dad can cook! I said things were kind of weird with me lately, and that’s the truth. But one good thing has happened. Recently, my dad came back to live in town. I didn’t want to see him at first because I was upset by some things he did in the past – leaving my mum and our family and stuff. But I decided that I’d give him a chance. We got together and cooked a big pot of spaghetti bolognese and salad. My friend and I made an Eton mess for pudding – it was really easy and quick to make, and tasted really nice – full of cream and berries, and crunchy meringue. I’m not saying everything is perfect now – far from it. But I’m happy to say that cooking together has brought us closer, and I feel better about him than I have in a long time! I even invited him to join the club. So Dad, if you’re reading this . . . welcome to The Secret Cooking Club Online.

  The Little Cook xx

  When Dad drops me home (with a container of leftover spaghetti bolognese), Kelsie’s already asleep and Mum’s not in her Cave. I put the container in the fridge and go upstairs. In my room, I sit on my bed and text Violet that everything went well, and that the pudding went down a treat. She texts me back that the core group of friends: her, Gretchen, Alison, Fraser, Naya, Nick – and . . . Annabel Greene can all make it tomorrow. My heart feels like it’s flipping somersaults – but in a good way. I almost feel like this TV thing might be fun. If . . . they let my friends be part of it. If . . . there’s even going to be a wedding.

  I leave my phone to charge and go down the hall. There’s a light on under Mum’s door, and the sound of typing. I knock quietly. ‘Mum?’ I say.

  The typing stops. There’s a long pause.

  ‘What is it?’ The reply finally comes.

  Taking it as an invitation, I open the door. Mum’s sitting on her bed. All around her are bits of glossy paper torn up like confetti. It’s then that I realize – it’s the wedding file.

  ‘What are you doing?’ I ask, feeling an icy chill go through me.

  ‘What does it look like? The wedding’s off.’ She spreads her hands to indicate the carnage.

  ‘No – it can’t be!’ I rush over to her and try to put my hand on her shoulder. She pulls away.

  ‘Go to your room, Scarlett. There’s nothing you can do.’

  Ignoring her, I plunk down on the bed, sending up a whirlwind of paper.

  ‘I just don’t understand,’ I say. ‘You and Em-K – you’re good together. You . . . laugh together. He loves you.’

  ‘Rubbish! If he loves me, then why did he walk out?’

  ‘He was angry,’ I say. ‘You were fighting.’

  ‘You shouldn’t have been listening. And why do you care, anyway?’

  I shake my head, frustrated that I can’t get through to her. ‘I care because I love you. He’s good for . . . all of us.’

  ‘You make it sound like it’s a nice fairy tale,’ Mums says. ‘And they rode off into the sunset and lived happily ever after. But did they really?’ She raises an eyebrow. ‘You know that he’ll never be your dad. Doesn’t that count for anything?’

  ‘Is that what this is about? Dad? Dad coming back? Because, he told me he wasn’t trying to stir things up. I believed him.’ I take a breath, suddenly scared. ‘Unless . . .’

  I open my mouth and then close it again. I can’t deny that once or twice I’ve had little fantasies late at night, where Dad comes grovelling back, Mum takes him in, and we’re a family again. But in the morning, when I remember my thoughts, I feel sick to my stomach – like I’ve been to a carnival and eaten way too many sweets. Because in the light of day, I know the difference between fantasy and reality. But I’m not so sure about Mum.

  ‘Unless you’re still in love with him . . .’ I choke out the words.

  ‘In love – with your dad!’ She looks at me with a mixture of disgust and disbelief.

  Then she laughs bitterly, as tears begin to pour from her eyes.

  ‘For all this time, I thought I hated him,’ she says. ‘He left and it hurt so much – it was so humiliating. Having him back here has brought it all back like it was yesterday. I don’t hate him now – I’ve come to realize that. I just feel like I’m on a rollercoaster, churning up inside.’ She shakes her head. ‘I can’t get married again – can’t go through
that again.’

  Something loosens inside my chest, as I try to understand what Mum’s saying. ‘You mean, you’re scared, Mum?’

  ‘No . . . I . . .’ she turns away from me and faces the wall. ‘When Emory walked out the other day, it was as though I’d been waiting for it all along. A “self-fulfilling prophecy”, they call it. No man is going to stay around here, living in this kind of mess and chaos.’ She shakes her head. ‘I was stupid to want to try again.’

  ‘Em-K loves you!’ I say, my eyes filling with tears. ‘He didn’t walk out the other day because he was leaving us – like . . .’ I take a breath, ‘. . . Dad did. Em-K left because he thought you didn’t love him. Because his heart was broken.’ I press my lips together. ‘It sounded like the TV show meant more to you than he did.’

  ‘No . . . I mean, that can’t be right.’ She turns to me, her face stricken.

  ‘Please Mum . . .’ I say, ‘Em-K wants to marry you. I know it. And he isn’t like Dad. He’s different. And I thought – no, I still think – that deep down, he makes you happy.’

  ‘I don’t know.’ She shakes her head. ‘I thought I was doing the right thing by trying to patch things up with your dad – be friends, even. He hurt me, and then I tried to get back at him through the blog. I wanted to make things right before I married again. So I could move on from that chapter of our lives.’

  I nod my head. ‘You needed closure,’ I say.

  ‘Closure.’ She looks at me with puzzled admiration. ‘Yes, I suppose that’s it. But then I realized that maybe what happened was my fault, and then I . . . got scared – as you say.’ Her eyes widen as if she’s horrified by the revelation. ‘And the TV show, and everything else, and now . . . well . . . I don’t know.’

  ‘Then listen to me,’ I say. ‘Em-K loves you, and you love him. Things are less . . . dramatic than with Dad. They’re normal.’ I hesitate. ‘No – that’s not the right word.’ I take a breath. ‘They’re good. Really good. And if I have to wear a stupid pink puffy bridesmaid’s dress to prove it, then I will.’

  Mum looks up in alarm. ‘I thought we decided on lavender.’

  ‘OK, I guess we did.’

  She leans against me, taking my hand in hers. ‘When Emory said he wished we’d elope, I was so angry. Because for a second, it sounded like the perfect solution to everything. No stress, no guest list, no awful white dress that makes me look like a cross between a marshmallow and a zombie. I could picture us – just the two of us – plus you and your sister, of course, and maybe a few friends. I’d wear my white linen dress with the blue flowers, and flip-flops. We’d sit around and eat and drink, and laugh, and it would be . . .’ she sighs. ‘But of course, that isn’t what I want. Not really.’

  ‘Isn’t it, Mum?’

  ‘Oh Scarlett,’ she says, shaking her head. ‘What have I done?’

  ‘Nothing that can’t be fixed, hopefully.’ I focus on trying to lend her my new-found strength. I’ve been brave and faced my issues with Dad. Now, it’s her turn to do the right thing.

  ‘Why don’t you go downstairs and give Em-K a call?’ I say. ‘I’ll come down and make you a cup of hot chocolate, just after I clean up all this paper.’

  A new plan

  Maybe it’s the hot chocolate working its magic, or maybe it’s just that Mum’s had enough drama for the minute. But either way, she ends up texting Em-K. I read the message before she sends it – almost like she’s willing to let me be the mum for now.

  Hi – we need to talk. PS – I’m sorry about the things I said. Love, Claire

  I tell her to add a couple of XXs and OOs after her name, just to let him know that she wants it to be a good talk, not a bad talk. She adds one X and ruffles my hair, morphing back into ‘mum mode’. ‘Thanks, Scarlett,’ she says. ‘I think we can get through this. Together.’

  ‘We can – and we will.’ I take the mugs to the sink and rinse them out. I leave her there, sitting at the table waiting for a response to the message. I’ve done what I can. Now the rest is up to her.

  By the time I’m finally back up in my room, it’s almost eleven o’clock. I’m completely knackered, but there’s still an awful lot to do before tomorrow. The conversation I had with Mum has given me another idea – totally mental and a complete nonstarter, but somehow, I can’t get it out of my mind.

  I ring Violet and tell her. She’s already half asleep, but she manages to giggle and tell me I’ve totally lost the plot. In other words, she’s on board if I can pull it off. Then I ring Dad. He said he knew Producer Poppy, and I’m going to hold him to that.

  I speak to him, and he agrees to help me. I wake up Gretchen – she’s grumpier than the others, but I’m relieved when she says, ‘I think it’s a good idea. At least it will put an end to things.’

  An end to things . . . Is it too much to hope for?

  It’s almost midnight by the time I’ve finished planning and texting. As my head is nodding with exhaustion, longing for my pillow, I send one more message – to Em-K. I know there’s a thousand things wrong with my plan, but right now, everything hangs in the balance.

  Endings and beginnings

  Imust have slept despite my racing thoughts, because when I wake up, the sky is rosy-pink and a pigeon is cooing from the rafters. For a second I worry that I’ve slept late and ruined everything. But when I roll over and check the screen of my phone, I see that it’s only six o’clock. I swing out of bed determined to get an early start for whatever this day will hold.

  Tiptoeing into the corridor, I can hear the sound of Mum breathing, deep in sleep. So far so good. She knows I’m due at the TV station and will be gone all day.

  Downstairs, I have a quick breakfast of toast and orange juice. I look again at the plastic bags over the door to Rosemary’s Kitchen and whisper a silent prayer. If today goes well, Mum and Em-K will be putting in that door.

  And I’m going to make sure it happens.

  From the other side of the wall I hear a noise. A rumbling sound like a kettle boiling. I duck through the plastic.

  ‘Hi,’ I say. ‘Mind if I join you?’

  Em-K is sitting at the long table, his elbows resting on top, his chin in his hands. Behind him, the kettle clicks off but he makes no move to get up. He glances up at me and nods. Treacle is lying on his lap, purring softly.

  He’s set out a mug with a teabag in it. I go over and pour boiling water over it. No milk, no sugar. I barely even have to think about it. I bring him the cup and sit down opposite.

  ‘Thanks,’ he mumbles, but doesn’t touch the cup. I have the urge to reach out and take his hand, like I would to Mum, or Violet, or Kelsie – anyone I love who needs me. Anyone I love. But Em-K?

  Why not?

  ‘Hey,’ I say reaching out. It does feel a bit awkward, but I manage to grab his hand and give it a little squeeze, then pull back. He looks down at his hand with sadness in his eyes.

  ‘You know,’ he says. ‘The first time I came here after my aunt died, I had this vision. There was a family sitting at the table, and they were laughing and happy. The kitchen was warm, and cosy, and there was a delicious smell. We were having roast, I think.’ He pauses, hesitating. ‘I don’t believe in visions. But I do like stories. From the time I was a boy, I believed in “happily ever after”. Isn’t that silly?’

  He glances up at me. It sounds like one of those questions that adults ask you, but they don’t really expect you to answer.

  ‘I don’t know,’ I say, truthfully. ‘But I do believe there’s something special about this kitchen.’ I pause for a moment, then continue. ‘Because I had that same “vision” too. In a dream.’

  I remember the morning Mum woke me out of a deep sleep. I had felt so warm, so right. Sitting at this table with my family. Em-K was carving the roast at the head of the table. But there was someone else there too.

  Dad.

  ‘Really? The same dream?’ Em-K finally picks up the cup and takes a sip of his tea.

  ‘Mum loves yo
u,’ I say. ‘You just have to get used to the fact that she’s not always very good at showing it. Don’t stories teach you that nobody’s perfect?’

  He stares at the dark liquid in his cup without answering.

  ‘In your dream . . .’ he pauses. ‘Was I . . . ?’ He trails off.

  ‘In it?’ I give a little smile. ‘Yeah, you were. I mean – hello! – do you think I’d tell you about it if you weren’t?’

  ‘No.’ He brightens. ‘I don’t.’

  ‘Well then.’ I keep staring at him until he’s forced to look at me. ‘You need to sort it – today.’ I think about how I’ve had heart-to-hearts with Mum, Dad, and now – Em-K. Sometimes I wonder if all grown-ups are completely mental! To me, things seem so clear.

  ‘I don’t know if we can, Scarlett.’ He hangs his head, looking broken. ‘No matter what I do – no matter how many times I tell her I love her – she doesn’t believe it. And this big wedding has made everything worse. It’s just setting things up for failure.’ He sighs. ‘And then there’s the other issue. But really – we probably shouldn’t be having this conversation.’

  ‘But we are,’ I say. ‘And I think I can guess the other issue. It’s Dad, isn’t it?’

  He shrugs. ‘Like I said—’

  ‘Look, I understand. I thought it was weird too –

  at first. But believe me, you don’t have anything to worry about.’

  ‘But he’s your dad.’

  ‘I know. But she’s not in love with him. I know, because I asked her. She wanted to be friends with him – work things out to get closure. But then she started getting scared. That what happened before will happen again. And then she started making it happen. A “self-fulfilling prophecy”. That’s why she’s been pushing you away.’

  Em-K shakes his head. ‘You’re right, Scarlett. This is silly – sitting around, feeling sorry for myself. After all, I’m supposed to be the grown-up here. I shouldn’t have said that stuff before – about dreams, and visions and happy endings.’