by Izzy Bayliss
I was on such a high as we drove home that evening. I was nervous too, I hoped I was able to do it, and that I hadn't gone in over my head, but Frankie assured me that I needed to start believing in myself a bit more. I knew those orders would keep me busy for a while – it was just the right level of business to allow me to give the cakes the right attention without completely swamping me, resulting in me turning out shoddy cakes. I had deliberately kept my prices low so that I was competitive. I wouldn’t be earning a huge amount of profit, but it would be enough to keep me going and I would worry about the mortgage and other bills down the line.
After my success at the craft fair, I finally felt ready to tell Clara. Dad picked me up, and we drove over there in silence as I thought about how I was going to break the news to her that once again her little sister had made a complete and utter fuck-up of her life.
We drove along passing the manicured lawns fronting the mansions of Clara's neighbours. Houses that most people could only ever dream of owning. Dad turned his Nissan Micra into Clara’s gateway. I had to hop out of the car to buzz us in through the electric gates. I briefly thought about making a run for it, but Dad gave me a warning look that told me to get back into the car. The gates parted and we continued on over the crunchy gravel of her meandering driveway before finally the red-brick house came into view. Dad drove around the fountain before pulling up outside. His yellow Micra always looked like a little dinky car parked beside Clara’s monstrous Range Rover SUV. I took a deep breath and got out.
We let ourselves in the back door, and found Clara sitting at her kitchen table surrounded by colouring pencils and a small pile of shavings. The place was spotless as usual – even though Clara could easily afford a cleaner, she refused because she didn’t trust anyone enough to do as good a job at cleaning her house as she would herself. Her issues were numerous, including the type of cloths they would use, the use of own-brand bleach, and whether or not they would pull out the sofa when they were hoovering.
“Dad, Lily!” she exclaimed. “Well this is a nice surprise!” She stood up to greet us.
“Where are the boys?” Dad asked.
“Oh their French tutor is in the living room going through some articles définis with them.”
“Oh right . . .” Dad muttered obviously not having a clue what Clara was talking about either.
“Whatchya doing?” I asked plonking myself down at the table.
“Just sharpening these colouring pencils for the boys – I hate it when they go all short and stubby,” she said as she picked up a blue Crayola one from the pile on her left and twisted it around inside the pencil sharpener before putting it into a pile of already sharpened pencils on her right.
“Well it’s important to have sharp pencils,” Dad said with a nervous laugh. I think sometimes he worried for Clara’s sanity.
“Exactly, Dad! As I always say ‘fail to prepare, then prepare to fail'.” And she continued on with her little sharpening exercise as if it was perfectly normal behaviour. I always wondered how Clara found the time, or even the inclination to do all of these things, but she was a perfectionist.
“Now would you like a herbal tea?” she asked as she tidied up her pile of sharpenings and disposed of them in the organic bin, before sanitising the table.
“Just regular tea for me thanks, Clara,” Dad said.
“Sorry, Dad – I’ve stopped drinking regular tea because of the caffeine – it tended to make me wired but I do have green tea, peppermint, lemon and ginger or dandelion root tea – it’s great for the digestive system.”
“Ah sure, I’m grand – I had a cup before I left the house anyway,” Dad said.
“Suit yourself, what about you, Lily?”
“Erm, I’m okay thanks – we probably won’t be staying long anyway." Not when I’ve told you my news, I thought grimly to myself.
Clara made herself a peppermint tea before joining us back at the table.
“So to what do I owe the pleasure of this social call?” she asked in her annoyingly over-formal voice. “Any sign of that errant husband of yours?”
“Well, em, that's partly why we're here. Lily wanted to talk to you about something. Didn’t you, love?” Dad said looking at me.
“Well, you see, Clara – there have been a few things going on my life lately, and I suppose I haven’t really told you about them because I was worried about how you might react.”
“Why would you worry about how I would react? I have always been a supportive and loving sister.”
“God yes of course you have – I know, but well –”
“Come on, Lily – I’m not going to bite you.”
“Well it seems as though Marc has left me for good. He’s not coming back.”
“What?”
I nodded to confirm it was true.
“He can’t have – I mean you’re only married a few months.”
“No, Clara – he wants us to separate formally.”
“But this is ludicrous – you can’t just marry someone and then change your mind a few weeks later!” she spat.
“Tell me about it,” I mumbled.
“So what you’re saying is that you’re going to be separated – as in next step divorce!”
“Well yes, I suppose I am.”
“It's just a mishap, Lily – it has to be. I mean these things don’t just happen, especially to our family!”
I took another deep breath. Why was she having such a hard time accepting this – after all it didn’t directly concern her. She was almost finding the whole thing harder to accept than I was.
“I know it’s a shock, Clara but how do you think I feel? Marc has made up his mind and well, I don’t think he’s going to change it – no matter how much I wish he would.”
“Well, Lily – that kind of defeatist attitude is exactly the reason why you’re in this mess in the first place!”
“Now hang on, Clara –” Dad interrupted.
“But Dad, she needs to get him back.”
“But why? Why does she?” Dad asked exasperated. “Maybe she might be better off on her own.”
“But she can’t be separated by the age of thirty-two!” she spluttered. “No, it’s just a mishap, that’s all it is. I know these things!” She was shaking her head defiantly, and I knew there was no point arguing with her. This had come as a shock to her – she needed time to let it settle in. “And who is she? Who is this brazen hussy that goes around having affairs with married men. She is an embarrassment to the female race.”
I was secretly pleased with this.
“It's that actress one, you know her, Nadia Williams - the one who won the Oscar,” Dad said.
“She didn't actually win,” I said through gritted teeth. “She was only nominated!”
Clara clearly didn't read Social Importance magazine. “Oh God, he has really done it in style, hasn't he?”
I nodded weakly. “Look, Clara – there is something else I’ve been meaning to tell you.” I knew I might as well get it all over with there and then, in for a penny, in for a pound.
“What now, Lily?” she sighed wearily from where she was massaging her temples with both her hands. “What on earth can you have possibly done now?”
“Well it’s my job –”
“Go on, I’m listening–”
“I’ve been fired.”
“You’ve been what?”
“Fired,” I repeated glumly.
She took her head out from her hands and looked at me.
“I bloody well heard you the first time!”
Oh dear, this was bad. Clara never swore.
“Well it wasn’t my fault – my boss has always been a dick and he fancied one of my team, so really it was just an excuse to fire me.”
“It never is your fault though, is it, Lily?” she said bitchily.
“I can’t believe how much of a mess you have made of everything – it’s like you manage to attract trouble to yourself.”
“I�
�m really sorry, Clara.”
Silence.
“But the good news is that Lily has set up her own business, haven’t you?” Dad said looking at me to take up his lead.
“Yes I’ve set up my own cake making business – it’s called Baked with Love.”
“Baked with Love?" she spluttered. "I don’t think I’ve heard anything more preposterous in my life! I mean working in a call centre to help people who don’t have the brain cells to know how to use a pregnancy test was bad enough, but now you’re suddenly a baker! Can you even cook, Lily?”
“Well, Clara, you should see the stuff she makes – it's amazing. She really does have a talent for it. Lily show her one of your brochures,” Dad urged.
Reluctantly I pulled out one of the brochures that I carried around with me from my bag and gave it to her.
She studied it carefully. “Well I’ve seen it all now.”
“She’s already had lots of orders – haven’t you, Lily?”
I nodded my head.
“Well I suppose it’s better than scrounging off the dole,” she said but her tone wasn’t as bitchy as before. “But knowing you, it'll turn out to be a disaster as usual.”
“Clara, you should have more faith in your sister,” Dad chastised.
We were interrupted then by the boys and Ms Dubois, the French tutor.
“Granddad! Lily!” They ran towards us excitedly.
“How did the boys do this week?” she asked Ms Dubois without introducing Dad and I.
“Much better, clearly you 'av being doing a lot of extra work with them this week,” Ms Dubois said in her breathy French accent.
Clara smiled, proud that her efforts had been acknowledged.
“I will go 'ome now but I will see the boys next week, à bientôt!”
“Lily and I better head on before the traffic,” Dad said, excusing us after she had left.
“Of course,” Clara said walking us to the door, clearly relieved that we were leaving. “I have to attend to the boys now anyway.”
We said awkward goodbyes before climbing back into Dad's small car.
Chapter 16
A few weeks later, I had enough work to keep me going for the next month. The fliers that Frankie had designed seemed to have worked. I had a few calls from people looking for cakes, one for a retirement party, and another for a thirtieth birthday. I was so excited – I wanted to put my best into each and every cake, and hopefully word of mouth would ensure I got repeat business. I even had to turn down a wedding cake because I already had two booked in for the same week. Frankie was my one-woman PR machine – I had lost count of the number of people who had placed an order because they said that Frankie had recommended me to them.
I had never worked harder – I got up every morning at seven and went into my kitchen to put on my apron and got straight to work. I worked all day until late in the evening, by which stage I was a sweaty and sticky mess from being covered in icing sugar. I was exhausted when I rolled into bed every evening, but I had never felt better. I loved what I was doing, it felt as though each cake I was making was a little piece of love – and I loved being able to help people with their special occasions. I had also borrowed some cake decorating books from the library and had got loads of great ideas, which I was currently experimenting with. Frankie was helping me to put together a website too, with photos of some of my recent baking and contact details. She had pulled in a favour from a friend who was a web designer, and all he wanted in return was a batch of my lemon meringue cupcakes!
I re-named a deep filled apple pie humble pie in honour of Clara, after she tasted some and finally admitted that my cakes tasted good. I had found some really cute heart shaped moulds, and I was going to make chocolate heart shaped lollipops. I set the chocolate hearts onto long thin wooden handles, and then I covered the chocolate in cellophane and tied it in place with a red bow around each one. I got some labels printed with my logo, that I tied around the sticks. Even I had to admit they looked gorgeous. As I didn’t have much money to spend on marketing, I was going to send them into all the Dublin radio stations, tied in a box saying “Happy Friday from Baked with Love,” and hopefully get a bit of free publicity out of it. I had also set up a stall with my treats every Friday at lunchtime in the IFSC. I figured it was the best day, as people didn’t mind treating themselves on a Friday, whereas other weekdays might be a harder sell. Word of mouth was spreading, and soon I had a constant queue in front of my stand from twelve o’clock until I finished up at two.
I was busy baking all day, and in the evenings I would call over to Frankie or go out for a walk to try and burn off some of the evil calories that were the one downside of my new job. At weekends Frankie and I would head out in town. Because of Frankie’s work, she was forever getting invitations to launch parties so we would go to these first and get tanked up on the free drink before heading on to a club.
For the first time since Marc had left, I wasn’t constantly thinking about him and wondering what he and Nadia might be up to now. I was too busy. Things were going well. I had just enough money to keep on top of the mortgage every month. I knew I shouldn’t be paying the mortgage on my own – I knew this was a no-no because legally Marc could demand half of the house even if I had been paying the mortgage all along, but I just didn’t want the hassle of it. The bank would be onto me if they were only receiving half of the money every month, so it was just easier to pay it all. I knew I would have to sort it out with Marc sooner rather than later, but for the moment - I didn’t need the extra stress. Once the mortgage was paid I had very little left over, but somehow I managed. And Dad had helped me out a bit whenever I was stuck.
One day I was just putting a vanilla sponge into the oven, when my phone beeped with a text message. I wiped my hands on a tea towel and went over to the table where I had left it. I picked it up and when I read it, saw it was from Marc. My heart skipped a beat. Since that evening when he had called over to tell me that things were over for good, I had barely heard from him except for messages to say that he couldn’t afford to pay the mortgage yet again, with the ever present smiley face stuck on the end. If it was another one, I swore I was going to fashion a Voodoo doll and use it to stick pins in his eyes. I opened up the message but instead of the usual excuses, it actually just said;
“We need to talk – can I come over?”
I read and re-read the message. What was that meant to mean? I had been asking him to talk for weeks, why did he suddenly want to talk now? Maybe he was finally going to try and sort out our finances, God knew it needed to be done, I couldn’t stick my head in the sand forever – there was our joint account for a start, the mortgage, all the bills that were in both our names. I took a deep breath. I knew sooner or later I needed to face up to it all, so I waited for a minute before texting him back so I didn’t look like I was sitting watching my phone constantly – which I wasn’t anyway because I was too busy with Baked with Love, but Marc didn’t know that did he? I wanted the message to be breezy too, and not like I was worried or desperate. So I typed:
“Sure – when suits you?”
I restrained myself from putting kisses on the end. It was a habit at this stage, and I really had to resist. I had a hierarchy for kisses – usually I put three kisses on the end of messages to Marc, two to Frankie and my family and one to people that I liked but didn’t know quite well enough to elevate them to two-kiss-status. Yet again it reminded me of just how awful the last few months had been. If you had told me this time last year, in the run up to our wedding that Marc and I would in fact now be separated I would have laughed at you, but you just never knew what was around the corner. A few minutes later my phone bleeped again;
“How about tonight? I can call over - 8 ok with you?”
I wanted to appear cool, calm and collected so I typed:
“Okay, see you then.” No kisses.
Oh dear God my heart was thumping manically once I put down the phone – why did he still have
this effect on me? I told myself to calm down. It was only to sort out our finances – so it wasn’t going to be pleasant. I hated confrontation, but I knew I would need to stand my ground on this. I was going to have to make Marc start paying half the mortgage again, or else the house would be repossessed. I loved our home, yes it was poky and small and you could hear next door flushing their toilet (yes, really) but I had put so much into decorating it. I had painted all the walls myself when Marc had been filming down in West Cork. I had chosen the carpets for the bedrooms, the tiles in the kitchen and bathrooms. I had spent practically all my spare time for months in IKEA choosing the furnishings – I had nearly fallen asleep in those lovely display beds on several occasions during the long days I spent in the place. It would kill me to lose my home.
I tried to keep busy for the rest of the day. I had to make a cake in the shape of a golf ball for a friend of Dad's in the club. I had bought two semi-spherical shaped moulds and a mottling tool that I hoped would give it a golf ball effect. But my head was all over the place, and I forgot to set my timer on the oven. When I finally remembered and hurriedly opened the oven door to check them, it was too late - the tops of the cakes were charred. I would have to do the whole thing again. I was annoyed with myself for being so easily distracted, so even though it was only three o’clock, I decided to call it a day and I spent the rest of the afternoon getting ready for my big meeting with Marc.
