Love, Lies and Lemon Cake

by Jayne Bartholomew

  Mark put his arm around her shoulders and they sat in silence for a few minutes.

  Pam nodded at his bag. “What happened to your flight?”

  “I couldn’t go without knowing Libby was going to be OK. It’ll be fine; I’ll catch the flight tomorrow or something. I’m not even really needed for the next few days anyway, but Tammy didn’t want me looking jet lagged in the photos. To be honest, the wedding guests will be heaving with make-up artists so if there’s a problem one of them can make me look like I’ve had more rest than Sleeping Beauty.

  “By the way, I’ve asked Hilary to look after Sam. Hope you don’t mind but I didn’t think he’d feel happy staying at the headteacher’s house. Nothing against James of course but that’s how I’d feel if I was in Sam’s shoes. Hilary will probably stuff him with sweets and let him watch rubbish on TV until bedtime.”

  Pam nodded. “Thanks. I’d almost forgotten about Sam, isn’t that terrible? I should give him a call and let him know what’s happening.”

  He gave her a squeeze. “Don’t worry, once he knows that everything’s all right I doubt he’ll be thinking about you either.”

  Pam smiled weakly then stiffened in anticipation as a nurse appeared.

  “Libby’s been taken to the recovery room. Everything went well but we’ll need to keep her in for a while to ensure there’s no infection. She lost quite a bit of blood during the operation so we’re keeping her sedated while she’s recovering. I’ll take you and your husband to see her once she’s settled.”

  Pam felt the tears coming back. “Thank you so much. That’s such a relief…” and then she was crying again, uncontrollably and Mark was holding her and telling her that everything was going to be all right. She let herself believe everything he was saying until she wiped her tears away and saw his flight bag.

  “You should go, Mark, you’re supposed to be a proper husband in America and I couldn’t forgive myself if you were late for your own wedding because of us. Thank you for being here though, it means the world that I can count on you as a friend.”

  “Always.” He gave her a peck on the cheek and caught a whiff of the perfume he had given her for Christmas mingled with her favourite Imperial Leather soap. He loved that smell. Mark brought her closer to give her a hug and suddenly it no longer felt like he was giving a friend a cuddle. Suddenly he wanted to have her much, much closer to him and the thought shocked him into quickly releasing Pam and grabbing his bag.

  “You’ll tell Lib that I said hi and hope she gets better soon?”

  “Of course. Thanks again.” Pam watched Mark walk quickly away and past the incoming nurse who was going to take her to her daughter.

  James was more than a little relieved when Mark had taken Sam off his hands. The smoking tyre at the school had shaken him more than he cared to admit and he didn’t want to put anyone else at risk just because they were connected to him.

  It was annoying that the police didn’t want to treat what happened as a serious incident, as far as they were concerned it was a prank that went wrong and advised James to do an internal investigation among his pupils before the matter was taken any further. The kids in his school might be a handful but he would stake his life that they weren’t psychopathic.

  All he had to do before he could relax for the day was take Ruffles for a walk. It was slightly embarrassing to walk a dog that had multi-coloured paws and it was a new experience to be stopped by pet lovers wanting to check if the paint was harmful to dogs. He had quickly learned to carry a tub of the food colouring with him to prove he wasn’t being cruel to animals. Ruffles didn’t seem to care what Kate did with his paws as long as she included a tummy tickle and an ear scratch to the activity.

  The warmth of the evening encouraged him to walk further than their usual route and James and Ruffles ambled towards the village centre. The comforting smell of baking from Babs’ tea room drifted in the breeze and led James by the nose towards the chairs outside the little café.

  Babs emerged with a pad and a menu. “Hello, James. I thought you were heading off to Vegas with Mark this week?” She moved a water bowl in front of Ruffles who drank thirstily.

  “Almost. Kate’s got a lot on at the moment so we’re flying out the day before the big day. I’m not needed before the actual ceremony and I really can’t take more than a couple of days out of school during exam time.”

  “Oh, right. Well, what can I get you?”

  “Is that lemon cake I can smell?” he asked hopefully.

  “It was but I think the thermostat went on my oven and it didn’t turn out well. There’s enough that can be salvaged from the wreckage for a treat for your dog but for human consumption I’d recommend the carrot and orange cake.”

  “Shame, I keep hearing about how amazing your lemon cake is and I haven’t had a chance to try it yet.” He reached down and patted the dog’s head. “Carrot and orange cake then, with a cup of tea would be great.”

  Babs wrote the order down. “It’s funny, I’ve been doing that cake with the same recipe for over twenty years but recently folk can’t seem to get enough of it. I’ll be right back.”

  James realised that he hadn’t been to the tea room for months and as he sat in the comfortable chair watching the world go by he couldn’t remember why that was. He hadn’t had a holiday in ages either, there always seemed to be so much to do that he kept putting it off. Being on his own hadn’t helped either. What was the point of going somewhere amazing if you didn’t have someone next to you to nudge and be amazed with you? He closed his eyes in the sunlight and resolved to discuss holiday possibilities with Kate later.

  Ruffles practically inhaled his taster of the Viagra-laced lemon cake and it wasn’t long before he began getting agitated under the table.

  “Are you ready to head off again?” James stroked the dog’s smooth hair before finding some coins in his pocket to pay. “Come on then, let’s go home.”

  Usually such an easy-going pet, Ruffles seemed to be experiencing an unusual energy burst and James had to stride to keep up with him. As they turned a corner they didn’t see Camilla coming in the opposite direction and the pair collided with her.

  James moved swiftly backwards. “Sorry about that, are you all right?”

  “Quite all right, thank you,” she said stiffly as her hands rose to check her hair hadn’t fallen out of place, “but would you be so kind as to control your dog?”

  Ruffles was racing around her legs and entwining them with his lead.

  “Right, will do, don’t move and I’ll untangle you… Ruffles, stop that immediately… Camilla, please don’t shake your leg, I think it’s only encouraging him… no I can’t pull him off you because the lead is too close to your ankle…” James watched the little dog humping Camilla’s leg with a growing concern bordering on respect.

  “Get it off me!” Camilla started to hop on the un-violated leg and kick with the other.

  “Stop moving or I can’t get the lead off him!”

  “GET THE LITTLE BASTARD OFF ME!”

  In a flash of genius, James held Camilla’s leg still with one hand and removed Ruffles’ collar with the other. He held the dog, who looked remarkably pleased with himself, while Camilla flounced around removing the lead from her legs.

  “That dog is a menace and should be put down.” She glared at James as she gathered what little dignity she could muster.

  “Sorry, Camilla, but no harm done?”

  “You just keep that vermin away from me in future.” Camilla barged past him, steaming with anger.

  James looked Ruffles in the eyes. “Of all the legs, on all the women, in all the world, you had to choose that one to hump?” The dog licked his nose and snuggled into James’ chest for a nap.

  Unseen by either James or Camilla, the incident had been filmed on a camera phone. The budding director hadn’t managed to get a good angle on James, he’d been out of the shot, but the expression on Camilla’s face had been priceless. He uploaded the clip
onto YouTube as soon as he returned home; where it went viral.

  Mark arrived in Vegas bleary-eyed and sleep-deprived having drunk too much coffee while waiting for an alternative flight. He silently thanked his stars that he had earlier persuaded Tamara to let him book his own flight out to the States. The idea of sitting alone on a private jet with no one to talk to was his idea of a small dose of torture. As it was, he’d been sitting next to an ex-pat who lived in Malaga; now that had been an interesting discussion.

  He worried constantly about Libby and turned his phone on to check for messages as soon as he was off the plane. Having checked that the time wasn’t too bad in the UK he called Pam and had a brief conversation. Libby was fine, her classmates were practically queuing around the block to visit her and everything was going to be okay.

  Then Mark called Tamara but her depressingly clinical Personal Assistant took the call. Apparently Tamara was resting but a car had been dispatched to pick him up from the airport. He was quietly relieved, all he now wanted to do was sleep and try and get his head together. He supposed that cold feet was completely normal before a wedding but was it normal to have cold feet for as many months as he’d had? It seemed so long now since he’d looked into her eyes and felt real happiness that his feet were practically encased in ice. Hopefully he’d feel better after a sleep, shower and some breakfast.

  There was a package waiting for him in his hotel. Mark tucked it under his arm as he signed in. He hadn’t been surprised that Tamara had decided that they should stay in separate hotels before the wedding but he was slightly put out that she didn’t want to talk to him. When he’d reached his room he slumped onto the bed and opened the pack, which he discovered contained a wedding agenda of eye-wateringly exact timings and details. It came as a shock to him that clearly no one had noticed he hadn’t arrived yesterday. The threatened teeth whitening appointment had been missed.

  The agenda said that they would be meeting with the film crew that evening, where Mark would tell them what he felt when he met Tamara and how wonderful she was. Just in case he forgot, there were some helpful suggestions listed in Appendix B.

  His stag night had been organised for the next day. There was a list of who was invited and even though he read the extensive list twice, Mark discovered the only man he knew was Tarquin. They were going to the hottest bar, a celebrity boxing match and then a strip club. The agenda reminded Mark that the film crew would be there so he should only drink type X whiskey and when they went to the strip club although he would receive a lap dance it was very important he wasn’t filmed looking at cleavage. The outfit that had been deemed appropriate for him to wear was hanging in the wardrobe. Mark had no doubt that it would look far nicer and be much less comfortable than anything in his flight bag.

  As he read the list of dos and don’ts he could feel panic rising up and went into the en-suite bathroom to splash some water on his face. The wedding was beginning to feel very real.

  Lifting his dripping face to the mirror he spotted that the cabinet on his right was fully stocked with a bewildering array of beauty products. For a man that considered a two-in-one shampoo and conditioner to be making an effort, Mark had no idea where to start. There was a small pill bottle on the bottom shelf with a handwritten tag in Tamara’s writing. It said “take two before the full body waxing, it will help x”.

  Mark read the note, cursing silently under his breath, before sitting heavily on the side of the bath. He looked at the package and agenda strewn out over the bed. He read the note again.

  He opened the mini bar.

  Mark knocked on the door of his soon-to-be wife and a woman in a white beautician’s jacket opened the door.

  “Yes? Can I help you?”

  Mark tried to look over her shoulder and mentally named her Unhelpful. “I need to see Tammy.”

  “Ms Tamara is indisposed at the moment. Can I pass on a message?” An eyebrow raised in bored contemplation. She considered him unimportant and the chances of a messages actually getting to Tamara were slight.

  “I’m her fiancé and I need to talk to her about the wedding.”

  Unhelpful looked him up and down as if considering a new and previously undiscovered form of pond life. Mark started to get tense.

  “Perhaps I could direct your enquiry to Mr Tarquin who is coordinating this event?”

  “No, you could not.” Mark physically barged past her and walked into the centre of the room. The women were all in face packs apart from two spa workers who were slicing cucumbers. They all wore identical bathrobes and their feet had toe dividers. He felt a surprisingly warm rush of affection towards whichever masked woman was Tamara; she really cared about today.

  Tarquin rushed over to him. “You shouldn’t be here! What if you were spotted by one of the paparazzi, have you no consideration?”

  “Shut up, Tarquin, I need to have a chat with Tamara. Tammy, where are you?”

  One of the white-faced towelling-clad beauties raised a hand. He guessed that the others would be models and underwear stars but even if they were famous he just didn’t care.

  “Right, everyone apart from Tamara, would you mind giving us some privacy?” Tarquin’s mouth dropped open in amazement. “Yes, it’s called having an opinion and it’s something I haven’t shared for a long time. Tamara, we really need to talk about this wedding.”

  He was vaguely aware of models leaving and talking in low voices. There was the possibility of drama and all of their senses were suddenly heightened. This is what they thrived on. As they left, the cucumber slices were confiscated in case they were tempted to ruin their diets.

  Lastly, and with the utmost reluctance, Tarquin followed them but was stopped when Tamara grabbed his arm as he walked by.

  “Don’t go, Takky, this is about our wedding, I need you.”

  Our wedding, thought Mark. Not my wedding, or Mark’s and my wedding but Tamara and Tarquin’s wedding. I’ve been stupid, but on the other hand that’s going to make this conversation a whole lot easier.

  Tarquin sat down next to Tamara who patted her face mask carefully. She didn’t allow any expression to crack the outer casing.

  Mark perched on the recliner next to the couple and took a deep breath. “Sweetheart, I have a problem with the wedding.”

  “What sort of problem? Have you not been given your agenda or schedule? Do you need another best man? Your current choice is a bit rough around the edges; just say the word and we can have a Calvin Klein hottie here within the hour.” She nodded to Tarquin who immediately reached into his jacket for his phone.

  “No! Tamara, I don’t need a replacement best man. I’m so sorry but I don’t want to be in the wedding.” There, he’d said it. “I thought this was going to be the beginning of our lives together, not the start of a new brand. I was looking for something low key and simple but this has got out of hand. This…” he waved his hands around at the opulent room, “all this, it just isn’t me.”

  White masking flaked from Tamara’s forehead as she managed a frown. “I don’t understand? The magazines are expecting something amazing, I can’t go low key, the network were very specific about that.” Tarquin looked embarrassed and put an arm around Tamara’s shoulders. She looked up at Tarquin. “Is it too late to get a smaller cake or perhaps just five flower girls?”

  Mark took Tamara’s hand as the other man tried to look inconspicuous. “Yes, it’s too late. I think if you look deep within yourself you’ll find that you don’t actually love me anyway. We worked well together for a while but I think that maybe you’ve outgrown the life we had and you need to move on to bigger and better things. Tarquin, back me up here. You know she’s too good for me, don’t you?”

  The photographer paused for a moment before looking at Tamara. “Well, yes, obviously… but the divorce would’ve been a huge media splash and all the best magazines wanted to book interviews. It was going to launch Tamara’s television persona.”

  “You’ve already planned it?” />
  Tamara gave a shrug. “It’s what everyone’s doing at the moment.” She turned to Tarquin again. “What will we do about the wedding? I can’t be dumped in the week before my big day; I’ll be a laughing stock.”

  Mark leaned back. “I have an idea how you can have your fairy tale ending. It just won’t be with me.”

  Feeling like a well-travelled yo-yo, Mark pulled up outside the Feisty Ferret and felt the nerves fluttering around his stomach. The hanging baskets were in full bloom and the building seemed to have a simmering sense of expectation hanging over it. He took a deep breath and walked in.

  The pub was doing its usual busy Sunday business. Mark waited until he noticed a couple leaving then pounced on the table. He didn’t see Pam anywhere yet.

  A waitress he didn’t recognise came over to take his order and leave bread rolls. Yes, she could recommend the beef, no, she didn’t know where Pam was. Mark ordered a bottle of wine and two glasses.

  He’d brought a book with him, just in case he had a long wait, and as he bit into a buttered roll he turned to the first page. He managed the first paragraph before Sam spotted him and ran across the bar, launching himself on Mark to give him a bear-hug.

  “You’re back!”

  “Yup, I missed you all too much. How’s Libby?”

  “She’s fine. She came out of hospital this morning and is upstairs having a nap. I got an A for Maths!”

  “Great news, well done!”

  Sam looked around with a frown. “Is your wife here?”

  “Actually, I decided not to get married. Turns out we didn’t have as much in common as we thought we did.”

  “Are you coming to live with us again?”

  Mark paused and tried to unravel his stomach knots. “I’d like to, if it’s all right with your mum.”

  “I’ll ask her.” Sam went speeding off.

  Pam emerged within seconds.

  “I thought the staff were joking when they said you’d turned up for lunch. What on earth are you doing here?”