When Only Cupcakes Will Do

by Daisy James

  If the Travelling Cupcake Company ended in disaster she knew she could always find work as kitchen staff, even if it had to be a washer of dishes – in all well-run restaurants, every cog in the machine was an essential part of the whole. She truly hoped that her new business would flourish, but if it didn’t she could trawl the streets of West London and find something to bring in an income.

  So why had she allowed her recent experience in the capital to smother her confidence?

  The answer to that question zapped into her unsuspecting brain accompanied by a picture of Ed Cartolli’s face, complete with his familiar smirk. Okay, his review had probably been published before he realised that the person who had served him smoked chilli-flavoured tiramisu was his old Le Cordon Bleu rival, but there was no getting away from the fact that his visit to Francesca’s had been the catalyst to her losing her job.

  But she took a deep breath and shoved the unwelcome interruption deep into the crevices of her mind. Yes, the first children’s party would be a challenge, but what worthwhile enterprise wasn’t? She grabbed one of the paper chef’s hats and on the front scrawled ‘Chef Jess’ and stuck it on her sister’s head and did the same for herself.

  It felt good.

  Chapter Eleven

  The day of Gabriella’s fifth birthday party dawned clear and bright. Late spring was Lucie’s favourite time of the year. A light breeze wafted through the streets, licking the eaves and tickling her spirits to elicit a smile. The sunshine had drawn the residents of Richmond out in force, mowing their lawns, sweeping their paths in a rhythmic workout to a symphony of birdsong. Traffic was light and she could even see a family of ducks floating serenely on their neighbour’s pond, its surface a mirror to the infinite sky, broken only by the occasional silhouette of a lone magpie.

  It was a short stroll to the village hall where the party was being held, but there was a lot to carry and, as the ice-cream van wouldn’t be ready until the next day, it took her three trips in Jess’s ancient Mini Cooper to transport the many plastic containers and cardboard boxes containing the tablecloth, napkins, chef hats and baked goodies to the venue.

  ‘Look, Jess, there’s a parking bay right next to the front door. It’ll be an ideal spot to park the ice-cream van when we’ve done it up. Great publicity, too, with the Travelling Cupcake Company logo emblazoned along the side. It’s such a warm, sunny day, it’s a shame we don’t have it already – we could offer ice cream!’ laughed Lucie.

  ‘No ice cream, but we’ve got oodles and oodles of buttercream icing!’ smiled Jess from behind a tower of Tupperware boxes. ‘Are you sure ten cupcakes per child will be enough to go round?’

  Lucie unlocked the door to the hall with the key she’d collected from the vicar’s wife the previous evening. As she stepped inside, her nostrils detected the familiar musty fragrance so reminiscent of childhood Sunday mornings when she and Jess would play games with the other children while their parents caught up on the village gossip after morning service.

  They began unpacking their equipment and the boxes of cakes. It didn’t take long and they quickly moved on to setting up the long table, chairs and dishes of decorations as well as laying out the piping bags filled with three different colours of buttercream icing – a baby pink, a peppermint green and a pale peach. Lucie had made a couple of additional bags of icing for Lewis and Jack – but these were of the vibrant Kermit green and pillar-box red variety.

  She inserted the final chocolate cupcake in the pyramid cake frame she had designed to cater for the adults attending the party and made her way to the door. A high-pitched shriek met her ears. The little girls had arrived, resplendent in their party frocks, the ribbons in their hair caressed by shafts of April sunshine. Within minutes the village hall reverberated with cries of happiness and celebration.

  ‘Hey, Lucie, stop taking photographs and come and help!’ called Jess, her hands in a pair of yellow Marigolds as she performed her habitual role of tidier-upper.

  Lucie raised her phone a final time, took a quick snap, and stuck her phone back in her pocket, a smile playing on her lips. ‘Sorry, Jess. I wasn’t going to tell you, but I think if I’m really going to make a go of this I need all the publicity I can get. These shots will look great on our website. And at the risk of being called a hypocrite, I intend to reopen my Twitter and Facebook accounts and set up Instagram and Pinterest accounts, which will be perfect to showcase the cakes.’

  There was a loud clatter as one of the young guests dropped her heavily adorned cupcake on the floor. Perhaps inevitably, it landed upside-down. The little girl’s mouth formed a moue of mute horror and her lower lip trembled as her eyes sought her mother. But Lucie was onto it.

  ‘Hey, Maddy, don’t worry about that. Here’s one of my special princess cakes made with real strawberries. Why don’t you decorate this one with these paper hearts and the sparkly red glitter?’

  The girl took the proffered cake, checked with her mother that it was okay and resumed her creative foray.

  Disaster averted.

  But the reprieve was only temporary as one of the mothers broke away from the pack and sidled up to Lucie. The woman scrunched up her pert, ski-slope nose and scrutinised Lucie’s face as though she were an oil painting in a gallery. Having satisfied herself as to her initial hunch, she raised a crimson-painted fingernail and pointed to Lucie’s chest.

  ‘It’s you, isn’t it?’ Her affected nasal drone rang through the room and her charm bracelet jangled from her wrist as she jabbed her finger in Lucie’s direction.

  ‘Erm, yes,’ Lucie assured her, unsure whether there was any other answer to such a ridiculous question.

  ‘You’re that girl! Livid Lucie. I thought I recognised you when we came in. I’m really good with faces. Hey, Claire, it’s the girl who had the meltdown on social media!’

  Lucie’s knees weakened and she felt like she’d just stepped off a fairground waltzer. She stared at the heavily made-up woman with the eyebrows that looked like two slugs had lost their way, as the heat in her cheeks flamed and her breath caught in her throat. Her ability to form a cogent response had been temporarily switched off.

  ‘So, this is what you’re doing now? Children’s birthday parties? I must say, these cake pops are just adorable!’

  ‘Erm, thanks,’ she managed to croak, her eyes seeking out Jess to plead for her to come to her rescue.

  ‘Do you mind if I take a selfie with you? I mean, you’re famous, right?’

  Before Lucie could agree the woman held her phone aloft and a photo was winging its way into cyberspace.

  ‘Erm, Greta, why don’t you…’ began Lucie, her hand stretched towards Greta’s elbow. But Greta was having none of it.

  ‘Now, can I have one of us standing next to that gorgeous bunting? Ooo, Karl is going to freak when I tell him I’ve met you! Oh, look, I’ve been retweeted already!’

  Jess rode to Lucie’s rescue and draped her arm over Greta’s skinny shoulders to steer her away to the kitchen where the pyramid of chocolate cupcakes topped with chocolate ganache and crushed parma violets awaited a taste-test alongside the birthday girl’s specially ordered cake – a Disney Princess-inspired cake crowned with five golden candles, awaiting its debut at the end of the session. It looked too good to pierce its perfection with a carving knife.

  ‘Can I invite you to unveil the pièce de résistance?’ Jess suggested.

  Greta held her iPhone aloft and dutifully shimmied into the frame next to the conical-shaped mountain of cupcakes dripping in the glossy ganache, delighted to be the centre of attention for a few moments. She selected one of the cakes from the bottom rung and held it alluringly to her mouth. Running the tip of her tongue along her lower lip, she extended her pinky finger and clicked.

  Lucie cast a grateful glance at Jess who smiled back encouragingly. She returned to her task of helping a girl with auburn ringlets stick chocolate buttons and Smarties onto her spaceship creation. Lucie made a mental note to remember tha
t not all girls appreciated pink.

  ‘Greta, will you put that phone away!’ whispered Jess.

  ‘Hey, look, I’ve been retweeted twenty times already!’

  ‘Greta!’

  ‘Look, Jess, it’s just a couple of pictures of this stunning chocolate tower and Gabriella’s awesome birthday cake. It’s what’s called marketing, you know. And people would pay good money for the interest that’s been generated by… well, by your sister’s internet stardom.’

  ‘It’s because of social media that Lucie had her meltdown in the first place. It’s car-crash viewing and it’s cruel!’

  ‘Awesome! I’m not usually one to say I told you so, but I told you so. Look!’ Greta turned the screen towards Jess who squinted to read the messages that had been tweeted.

  ‘Oh for smell-o-twitter – those #chocolatecupcakes look wonderful!’

  ‘Send a sample my way please #LividLucie #TheTravellingCupcakeCompany’

  ‘Cappuccino and toffee cupcake for me please #sodthediet

  ‘Oh my God, no way! The Travelling Cupcake Company has been retweeted by Ed Cartolli!’

  ‘Greta!’

  ‘What’s wrong with that? You don’t have to meet him. It’s just a tweet.’

  ‘Just don’t tell Lucie, okay?’

  Greta rolled her eyes and returned to the makeshift table where the girls seemed to be wearing most of the cupcake toppings. Thank goodness for the aprons.

  ‘Can we eat these now?’ Gabriella asked Lucie, holding up a large cupcake overladen with chocolate buttons and sprinkles cascading down onto the table like sapphire rain.

  ‘Sure.’

  ‘I made this one for my Uncle Mundi. He’s promised to come to my party, you know. He’s always late. Mum says it’s his Italian jeans that always make him late so I asked him to wear his school trousers for my birthday. Do you think he’ll like the blue sprinkles?’

  ‘Yes, I think your uncle will love what you’ve created, Gabriella.’

  Rosa spent the whole hour waddling around, smiling, relaxed, pausing to chat to the other mothers while Lucie got stuck in with the creative side of things. The atmosphere in the hall was surprisingly calm while the children were engrossed in their task. Even Jess had time to leave the washing-up bowl and exchange gossip with her mummy friends from the local primary school where Jack and Gabriella had taken the reception class by storm.

  It was a truly wonderful afternoon and one which Lucie wished could continue. Why hadn’t there been this sort of party when she and Jess were young? Jess was eleven years older than she was, so by the time she could remember her birthday parties, Jess had moved on to more sophisticated pursuits to celebrate her passing years – usually including boys.

  The party wrapped up with a rousing rendition of ‘Happy Birthday’ and a huge cheer when Gabriella managed to blow out her candles in one breath. As Rosa stood at the door to thank everyone for coming and for their gifts, one of the mothers paused and sought out Lucie.

  ‘Hi, Lucie, I’m Kate – Maddy’s mum. That was the most enjoyable children’s party I’ve attended in a long time. I love the fact that the children get to make as much mess as they like without being told off! I remember the baking sessions I did with my grandma, perched on a little stool with my sister, waiting until I could lick the bowl! Are we even allowed to do that now? I’ve shied away from doing the same activities with my girls because of the mess. I’d forgotten how much fun it is, though. But it’s not only passing on essential skills for their future, is it? The thing I remember most is the bond I formed with Gran during those sessions at the kitchen counter.’

  ‘It was exactly the same for me and Jess,’ smiled Lucie. ‘Our gran was an avid baker too. She passed her enthusiasm on to Mum and then us. I hope we’re doing the same for Lewis and Jack.’

  ‘Do you have a business card? I heard you telling Rosa that you do adult parties as well. I’m thinking it could be a great idea for my sister Jemima’s hen party next month. She lives in Kensington and has organised a glamorous do for her friends up there, but she’s promised to come home for a more low-key celebration that can include Mum and my aunt and us oldies who have to be up at the crack of dawn with our offspring. It’s a perfect solution.’

  ‘I don’t have any cards yet, Kate, but here’s my mobile number. What would you say to cocktail-inspired cupcakes and cake pops? We’ve already experimented with a few recipes. I think you’ll like them.’

  ‘Oh my God, yes please, that sounds amazing!’

  Lucie had two more enquiries from the mums about children’s birthday parties before they closed the doors of the hall.

  ‘Thanks for everything,’ said Rosa, slumping into a chair and resting her aching feet on a low stool as Lucie began to clear away. ‘Gabriella has had a wonderful party, haven’t you, darling? And the best thing is that I don’t have to worry about the tidying up!’

  Gosh, Cupcake Armageddon has definitely landed, thought Lucie as she scanned the level of culinary chaos ten five-year-olds had left behind. Jess had excused herself five minutes earlier, weighed down with bags and boxes to be returned to her kitchen, with Lewis and Jack trotting happily at her heels clutching a cupcake in each hand as well as a large slice of birthday cake.

  She plastered what she hoped was an angelic look on her face, pushed up her sleeves and began the task of brushing the floor while Rosa supervised Gabriella and a friend she had invited for a sleepover from her seat on the wooden throne – probably a discarded relic from the church next door – softened with a tapestry cushion. Gabriella and her friend chose to amuse themselves by chasing each other around the room, shrieking and giggling as the concentrated injection of sugar raced through their veins. With the amount of cake they had both consumed, Lucie was also concerned about the possibility of synchronised vomiting.

  ‘Gabriella, Adriana, calm down! Come on, help me take some of these presents out to the car and let Lucie finish the tidying up. She must be exhausted!’

  Lucie smiled gratefully at Rosa as she began to mop the floor with warm soapy water. One of her promises to herself was to leave the place where her parties were held as clean, if not cleaner, than when she arrived.

  The door swung back and she looked up to exchange a comment with Rosa, but it wasn’t Rosa who loitered on the village-hall threshold. Lucie enjoyed a few pleasurable heartbeats of desire before her stomach shot down to her toes when her eyes registered exactly who it was.

  Standing before her, looking like he’d just walked off an Armani fashion shoot, was Ed Cartolli.

  Chapter Twelve

  Lucie felt her world tilt on its axis. A cauldron of emotions swept through her body sending every one of her senses into a spin so that she felt disorientated, unable to decide between flight or fight. Her head told her that this time the prudent course would be to sprint from the room as fast as her shock-weakened knees would allow – remember what happened last time, it said.

  But inconveniently her brain simultaneously refused to send that signal to her feet and she seemed to be rooted to the spot, her face suffused with warmth. Her heart pounded against her ribcage and her stomach felt queasy, whether from the copious consumption of over-iced cupcakes offered up by the party guests eager to hear her expert opinion or the man who stood before her she wasn’t sure. She suspected it was the latter.

  ‘Hello, Lucie.’

  Ed offered her a wary smile. She hadn’t been expecting that. She opened her mouth to respond but no words came out, just a sort of embarrassing croak.

  ‘Are you going to start throwing things at me? Do I need to call on my heavily pregnant sister for protection?’

  She knew she was staring at him like a gobsmacked goldfish, and that she was being rude by not answering him, but all her mental agility had been extinguished when he’d appeared in the doorway. However, a few seconds later her faculties returned and she felt a whip of anger slash through her veins. This was the guy who had got her fired!

  ‘What are
you doing here? Is losing me my job at Francesca’s not enough for you? Have you come to trash my new business too?’ She glared at him, her heart doing an impression of an energetic Irish jig. There was another problem as well. The effect his proximity was having on her. She could have cut the atmosphere with her cake slice.

  ‘Well, this is my niece’s birthday party.’

  ‘Your niece’s? Oh, I thought…’

  Ed opened his mouth to say something but was interrupted.

  ‘Yay!’ squealed Gabriella dashing into the hall. ‘Uncle Mundi! Uncle Mundi!’

  ‘Gabriella! Happy birthday, bella mia!’

  ‘Uncle Mundi, look – I made this for you!’

  Lucie watched Gabriella launch herself into the open arms of her favourite uncle, waving his specially decorated cupcake in the air.

  Oh my God, no!

  Ed Cartolli was being presented with another specimen of her sub-par baking to sample and find wanting – although she knew for sure that this time there was no errant spice in the mixture otherwise the children would have sounded the alarm well before now. Haute cuisine they weren’t! But still, there was no way these buns would match up to his exacting standards of expected excellence.

  Then the scathing review Ed had written about the dessert debacle at Francesca’s popped into her head and the whole nightmare came screaming back. She clenched her fists and gritted her teeth in an effort to hang on to her temper. Despite the fact that there was no audience this time to record her reaction, they had the chaperone of a five-year-old child and she couldn’t risk any further bad publicity if she wanted her new business to work out.

  But would her business enterprise be over before it had even begun? Any review he published about the Travelling Cupcake Company would surely be their first, and maybe even their last.