The Girl I Was Before

by Izzy Bayliss

  “But there were so many other times you could have told me.”

  “I was so afraid I’d lose you. That was the reason I broke up with you because I didn’t want to bring you into this mess, but I missed you too much.”

  “But how do you think I felt hearing that the woman I love has a husband who she never told me about?”

  He had said the love word. He hadn’t said that before.

  “I was just there in your home, Lily and in he strolls! So obviously I asked him who he was and what he was doing in your house, but then he tells me he’s your husband and he asked me who I was!” he continued.

  “I’m sorry – I didn’t want you to find out like that. You didn’t deserve that. He’s a prat. He had no right turning up like that.”

  “So how long were you married for?” he said as he turned back to face the grey-green water.

  “Three months.”

  “Three months?”

  “I know it’s pathetic. I came home from work early on the evening of our three-month wedding anniversary, and there he was in bed with somebody else! Today should have been our first wedding anniversary.”

  His face softened. “God, Lily, I'm sorry.”

  “Yeah it was pretty awful at the time, but you know I’m doing really well since. It's funny how things change though, because I can honestly say it was the best thing to ever happen to me.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I wouldn’t have met you, Sam.”

  He stayed silent.

  “Do you really love me, Sam?”

  “I do – I did. I mean I’m just so messed up right now. You hurt me badly, Lily – I thought what we had was special. I thought we were good together and then I find out you had this whole other part of your life which I knew nothing about, so now I’m wondering if I ever really knew you at all?”

  “You did know me – you do know me. What you know is the real me, that’s it. I have no other secrets or skeletons in the closet. It’s actually a relief to have it out in the open now. It was such a weight carrying it around wondering how I was going to tell you and what way you were going to react.”

  “But how am I meant to trust you again, Lily?”

  “Please, Sam, if you can just give me one more chance, I will make it up to you. I promise I have no more secrets. That’s it – this is me. Please, Sam – can we start again?”

  “I don’t know, Lily, you really hurt me.” His eyes were wounded.

  “Sam, please if you love me, please I’m begging you. Give us another chance.”

  He lowered his head and was silent for an eternity. “I’m sorry, Lily – I can’t –”

  I was devastated; my heart felt like it had sunk down into my boots. “Oh . . . right well, again I’m sorry, Sam – I really am. You deserved more than how I’ve treated you.” I started to walk away. My boots compacted the snow into a crunch as I walked. That was it, just when I had found happiness; I had ruined it once again. Why hadn’t I been honest with him from the start? If I just had told him the truth from day one, I wouldn’t be in this mess.

  “– I can’t imagine my life without you in it.” I heard his voice from behind me. I swung around to look at him. “I’ve waited my whole life to have a relationship with someone that came close to the relationship that my parents have with each other. And then I met you – I’ve never met anyone like you before, Lily and I’m not sure if that’s a good thing or a bad thing, but now that I’ve met you – I don’t want to ever let you go.”

  “What? Did I hear you right?”

  “Come here, Lily.”

  Snowflakes rushed against my face as I ran back towards him and flung my arms around his neck.

  “I love you,” I said as the snow fell magically around us.

  “I love you too, Lily McDermott,”

  This was it, this was so right. Wrapped up in Sam’s arms was where I belonged and where I wanted to stay for the rest of my life.

  As we stood kissing in the snow a huge snowflake landed on my nose and Sam brushed it off. Then I remembered Frankie.

  “We'd better go, Frankie is waiting for me.”

  As we walked back hand in hand towards the car park, I saw that the snow had settled thickly covering my footprints already. I couldn’t help but think back over the last year and how my “mishap” as Clara had termed it, instead of being the worst moment of my life, had actually turned out to be the very best thing that had ever happened to me.

  THE END

  If you enjoyed ‘The Girl I Was Before’ then I would really appreciate if you could help me out by leaving a review on Amazon. Reviews really help to get a book noticed by Amazon who will then promote it to new readers so they are hugely important to us authors. It doesn’t have to be long -just one line will do and I will love you forever

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  Recipe for Lily's Heavenly Orange Cake

  Ingredients

  225g butter, plus some for greasing

  225g caster sugar

  225g plain flour

  3 eggs

  Finely grated zest and juice of 1 orange

  1 teaspoon baking powder

  Pinch of salt

  Cream Cheese Icing

  60g butter

  180g soft cheese

  100g icing sugar, sieved

  1 teaspoon orange juice

  Grease a 23cm diameter tin with some butter. Preheat the oven to 180°C, 350°F, Gas 4. Put the butter and the caster sugar in a bowl, then cream them together. Beat in the eggs, the orange zest and the juice (make sure to keep a few drops to flavour the icing). Sift in the flour, the baking powder and the salt, and mix gently.

  Tip the mixture into the greased tin, then Bake with Love in the oven for 20-25 minutes; insert a skewer into the middle to check if it is ready – the skewer should come out clean. While the cake is cooling, you can start making the cream cheese frosting.

  Combine the butter and cheese in a bowl. Sift in the icing sugar and the orange juice and mix until smooth. Then spread over the top of the cooled cake.

  Enjoy xx

  Want to know what happens next for Lily and Sam?

  Read Chapter 1 of Baked with Love, the second book in the Lily McDermott series.

  CHAPTER 1

  Can’t breathe . . . can’t breathe . . . can’t breeeeathe . . .

  “Ehm, Lily, why is your face turning purple?” Sam asked, his face a mixture of concern and amusement.

  I was looking at my reflection in the glass and sucking my stomach in so much that I thought I was going to starve my brain of oxygen. I exhaled and let everything hang out again. It was useless; I’d never be able to keep that up all night.

  I was standing in my newly appointed Baked with Love and it was a few minutes before the first guests were due to arrive for the launch party. I couldn’t believe that I was about to open my very own bakery – me, Lily McDermott, a bakery owner? It sounded ridiculous even to me.

  “Are you sure I look okay?” I said, turning around to him.

  “You look great, Lily – I’ve told you a million times already!”

  “I don’t look like a person who should have their own bakery though, do I?” Although I had had my hair blow-dried and I had bought a gorgeous new tea dress, the nerves were starting to get the better of me. Whenever I looked at my reflection in the mirror, I didn’t look mature enough to own my own business. I felt like an imposter.

  “What are you talking about?” Sam asked with a laugh.

  “Me . . . this –” I said, gesturing around the café with a sigh. “Oh God, I think I’m in over my head . . .” You know when for once everything in your life is going right and you finally think you have your act together? Nope, me neither because here I was yet again in a situation where I felt totally out of my depth.

  My best friend, Frankie, had invited lots of journalists and PR
people and I knew they would be expecting somebody confident, somebody assured, somebody who knew what they were doing, not someone who was completely winging it. I felt like this was all a big charade. I was waiting for somebody to jump out and say, “Haha, Lily, you didn’t really think we were going to let you open your own bakery, did you?”

  “Relax, Lily, it’ll be great!” Sam reassured me, taking me into his arms.

  “But what if nobody turns up?” I said for possibly the hundred and seventh time that day.

  “Well, then me and you will have a lot of cake to get through –”

  I glared at him. “That’s not even funny!”

  He grinned back at me. “Lily, stop fretting, of course they will. You’ve had loads of RSVPs. You’ve worked hard for this, try to relax and enjoy your special moment.”

  “You’re right.” I sighed, wondering once again why I had decided to do this. Was I completely mad?

  As I looked around the room, I couldn’t believe that this place was mine. A wooden sign with Baked with Love now hung proudly over the door and the fringe of a huge red and white candy-striped awning billowed gently underneath. In good weather, I would be able to put a few tables under it. The original oak floorboards were still intact, and two old bottle glass windows looked out onto Bluebell Lane where inside I had created a tower of macarons to entice people through the door. A traditional style glass counter ran along one wall, which was now full with cakes and treats. I had an old-fashioned, push-button till at the end of the counter. A comfy sofa ran along the back wall beside the gas stove which I hoped would give the place a warm, cosy feel during the long winter months. The room at the back was fitted out as my kitchen, and I was so excited to have proper catering ovens, an industrial-size fridge, and tonnes of space to work. I felt like a child at Christmas over the last few days as I tested out the new equipment. I would be able to double, if not treble, my output every day. I had bought some mismatched tables and chairs which, as well as being cheaply purchased in the charity shop, gave the place a relaxed and welcoming feel. I had also picked up vintage-patterned plates and teacups, saucers and bowls; none were from the same set but somehow, collectively, they all worked together. The end result was that Baked with Love was cute and homely and exactly what I had imagined my dream bakery might look like way back when I had been working out of my kitchen in Ballyrobin.

  I had viewed unit after unit over the past few months, but inevitably they were too small, or too big, or didn’t have space for a kitchen, or were on the quiet end of the street. Every place I had looked at hadn’t been right, but this little shop was just perfect. I could feel it in my bones.

  I would be eternally grateful to my brother-in-law, Tom, who had a large property portfolio around Dublin and was cutting me a deal on the unit. The previous tenants had only vacated the building recently, and Tom had said it was mine if I wanted it. There wasn’t a chance I could ever hope to afford the rent on a prime location like Bluebell Lane without his help. I turned back around and looked around the room and once more a nervous feeling began bubbling its way up inside me.

  It wasn’t long before my Dad and Frankie came through the door, followed shortly by my sister, Clara, and her husband, Tom. I was relieved to see Clara hadn’t brought her boys, Jacob and Joshua, with her. I had visions of my brand-new bakery being destroyed by her “energetic” sons. Frankie arrived next wearing an electric blue coat over a cerise pink dress. Most people with Frankie’s pale colouring and wiry auburn hair would shy away from wearing bright colours but not her. Her job as a freelance fashion stylist meant she wasn’t afraid to experiment with clothes.

  “Are you ready?” she asked, kissing me on both cheeks.

  “Do you think anyone would notice if I ran away right now?”

  “Don’t worry, you’ll be great,” she said, giving me a squeeze.

  Soon the rest of the guests began to arrive, and I watched in amazement as Frankie turned into my PR woman. She had invited Ireland’s top journalists and food bloggers and other people who she said were social media “influencers” – whatever they were. She confidently greeted people and introduced them to me until my head was spinning trying to keep up with who was who.

  Frankie had insisted that we needed a theme, so we were simply going with “Cake and Cocktails.” We had designed strawberry mojitos to complement the Eton-mess, which were served in a shot glass alongside the cocktail. There were sticky toffee apple martinis to match my bite-sized sticky toffee puddings, and Frankie had suggested gin-gin mules to pair with the key lime cupcakes. Dad and Sam had been given the job of serving the guests, and Frankie directed them through the crowd with their trays so that everyone had a drink and matching cake in their hands.

  I was so busy running around meeting and greeting the journalists and PR people that Frankie was introducing me to and trying to make a good impression that before I knew it she was tipping a spoon against the side of a wine glass calling on me to make a speech. My stomach flipped over; I had been dreading this bit. I managed to catch Sam’s eye across the room, and he gave me a reassuring wink.

  I swallowed back a lump in my throat and began. My voice trembled with emotion when I gave a special mention to Frankie for encouraging me to set up my own cake-making business in the first place. It was hard to believe that an idea that was conceived over a bottle of wine one night was now almost a fully fledged bakery. I could never have imagined when I first took those tentative steps into business that I would one day have a café with my name over the door. To see Baked with Love, my own bakery, alive with people eating and chatting and laughing was everything I had ever dreamed of. I finished by saying: “Thank you, everyone, for coming, I think we have the recipe for a perfect night: a great crowd, some lovely cocktails, and hopefully some tasty treats.”

  The rest of the night went past in a blur, and before I knew it I was saying goodbye to everyone as they assured me that they would be giving Baked with Love a big thumbs up.

  As soon as we had closed the door on the last guest, I let out a huge sigh of relief and collapsed onto a chair.

  “I think it was a success!” Sam said, coming over and wrapping me into a hug.

  “I don’t think I said anything too stupid . . .”

  “You need to work on your public speaking, but otherwise I think people actually enjoyed it,” Clara said.

  “Of course they did!” Frankie said, cutting across her. She had no patience for Clara’s antics.

  “I’m proud of you, Lily,” Dad said.

  After we were finished cleaning up, Frankie, Dad, Clara, and Tom headed on leaving just Sam and me alone together.

  “You were amazing tonight,” he said, taking me into his arms. “Come on, this calls for some bubbles!” He took me by the hand. We locked up and stepped out onto the pedestrianised street where the aprons of cafés and bars fronted. Office workers walked past us, blazers draped over their shoulders and ties loosened on the warm evening.

  We walked over to a nearby bar and took a seat outside under the canopy. Sam disappeared inside and returned a few moments later with a bottle of champagne. He uncorked it and the froth rushed over the neck and down onto the table. He poured us both a glass.

  “To Baked with Love,” he toasted.

  “To Baked with Love,” I echoed.

  He put his arm around my shoulder, and we sat back and watched the busy street life unfold before us.

  “I never thought I’d say it but my life it pretty perfect right now, Sam Waters.” I reached for his hand and gave it a squeeze. When I thought back over how things had gone for the last two years, a whirlwind didn’t even begin to describe it. In that period, I had married Marc and separated. I had been fired from my job in Rapid Response pregnancy tests and had set up Baked with Love from my own kitchen. I had met Sam when he had come to my rescue after a disaster involving a stand of fallen cupcakes and my nephews, Jacob and Joshua. After a few false starts, we had finally got it together and now here I wa
s, relaxing in his strong arms, looking across the street at my new bakery. I almost had to pinch myself to believe it was true. From one of the lowest points of my life, all these good things had happened to me and it was all because of the magic of cake.

  It was then that I noticed Sam lowering his gaze towards the cobblestones on the ground.

  “What is it?” I asked.

  “It’s nothing – sorry . . .” He smiled at me and squeezed my hand.

  We sat chatting and people watching and staring across at Baked with Love with a mixture of pride and amazement until the cool evening air began to make its presence felt. I began to shiver, and Sam took his jacket off the back of the chair and draped it over my shoulders.

  After we had finished the bottle we strolled home hand in hand along the Grand Canal towards Sam’s apartment. It had become my apartment too over the last year. He had let me take over his kitchen with my baking on the condition that I saved him some of whatever I had made that day. I figured it was a win-win for both of us, so I had put my house in Ballyrobin up for rent and moved in with Sam the very next day.

  I felt as though I was dancing on air the whole way home. The sun began to set in shades of pink and orange over the Grand Canal basin, glinting off the water below and bedding down somewhere over Boland’s Mill. Dublin really could be the best city in the world on a sunny evening like this, I thought.

  When we reached the apartment, I walked over to the floor-to-ceiling length windows. Dusk had started to fall, and a field of city lights lay twinkling beyond the pane. I drew the curtains across and flopped down onto the red L-shaped sofa that ran the length of the wall.

  Sam sat down beside me and took me into his arms.

  “I’m proud of you. I know you’ll make it a success.”

  “I hope so,” I said, nervously biting down on my bottom lip.