When Only Cupcakes Will Do

by Daisy James

  ‘Anyway, last summer Giorgio’s uncle agreed to take us up in his Cessna Skylane. When we set out the skies were clear but we were told later that the storm was one of the worst to hit the island in decades and the roads into our village were more like rivers than tarmac. We should have stayed on the ground, had dinner in Comiso, maybe even crashed at a friend’s over there for the night before returning to Palermo, but hindsight is a cruel companion, and anyway, we thought we were invincible.

  ‘Giorgio jumped first, then Dominico, and I went last. I remember the leaden clouds scooting at speed towards us. The wind had whipped up and it blew us off course. I landed in a tree. My parachute was tangled but I was fine; bruised and shaken, but okay. I cut myself loose and went in search of the others. By this time the rain had arrived with a vengeance, turning quickly into a deluge, and visibility was down to mere metres. I found Dominico and we scoured the area for Giorgio. We found him hanging from a branch, his head gashed and barely conscious. We managed to free him and stumbled to the roadside. As we waited to hitch a lift back to the airfield, a lorry came bowling towards us. The driver took the bend too sharply, lost control on the slick road and tumbled down into a ravine. Dominico and I abandoned Giorgio and ran to help. The driver had lost consciousness and was trapped behind the wheel. We fought for an hour to free him using an axe he had in his cab.’

  Ed paused, his lips stretched into a pain-filled grimace as he recalled the terror he’d faced that night. He took another swallow of his wine and continued, his voice trembling as he fought to get the words out.

  ‘Just as we were dragging him out from his seat, the driver’s door slammed shut on my hand. Three of my fingers and half of my thumb were severed. I don’t remember anything else of that nightmare on the hill until I woke up in the hospital the next day. They told me I’d saved not only Giorgio’s life but the lorry driver’s life as well; that within seconds of my blacking out the lorry was engulfed in flames. We both could have been in there…’ Ed couldn’t continue.

  ‘Oh Ed...’ She struggled to find the words to truly express her horror at what he’d just told her.

  ‘It took months for the injury to heal and when it did I’d lost most of the sensation in my hand. I couldn’t work safely in a commercial kitchen. I admit I went through hell. The psychological pendulum swung from anger to grief, from hope to devastation. However, I also knew that there are far worse things that happen in life and I refused to allow my injury to destroy the most passionate relationship in my life – my intimate connection with food. Rosa suggested I spend some time here in England with her and Paolo. I could get to know my gorgeous niece and she promised to give me an insight into food journalism. She was true to her word and I have her to thank for my new passion. She got me a couple of commissions for the local newspaper as a food critic and the rest, as they say… well…’

  ‘Are you telling me that you haven’t cooked since the accident?’

  ‘Of course I’ve cooked. I have to eat, you know,’ Ed laughed. ‘Okay, I love cooking, it’s in my genes, but actually, if I’m honest, my time in Paris taught me that I enjoy the scientific side – what I like to call food alchemy – much more. I love digging around for new ingredients, seeking out unusual herbs, testing out new spices – even resurrecting old ones that have fallen out of favour. I love foraging too. I love discovering how diverse flavours can be paired to produce a symphony on the palette – and then recording my findings. I’ve written a sort of ‘off-the-beaten-track’ cookery book and I’d love to find a publisher for it someday. Everything happens in life for a reason, Lucie, even the disappointments and the knockbacks.’

  ‘I…’

  Lucie sneaked a covert glance at Ed. Had that been a reference to Alex’s rejection of her proposal or her being fired by Francesca? She tried to interpret his expression. The corners of his lips stretched into his cheeks to produce those cute dimples, but his face had taken on a mask of seriousness. His fingers gripped his glass and he drained the contents in one swallow. Without looking at her, he raised his hand and gestured for the bill.

  ‘Adriano says it’s on the house,’ said the beanpole-thin waiter as he removed the detritus from the table, anxious to start setting the table for the evening service.

  ‘Thanks,’ replied Ed. ‘Tell him I’ll call him. Come on, let’s go.’

  The cool early evening air, laced with a persistent drizzle that had been threatening all day, hit Lucie like a wet flannel and she woke from the swathe of contentment the restaurant had wrapped around her. She offered Ed a smile as they dashed towards his car but the easy banter of earlier had dissolved. His sojourn into the nightmare of the previous summer had clearly brought back difficult memories.

  ‘Thank you for dinner,’ she ventured, wishing she could think of something more interesting to say as Ed fought to navigate the motorway in the downpour.

  They had discussed every subject known to the world of gastronomy and yet all she could think about was how she would feel if the reason she got up in the morning was snatched away from her like it had been for Ed. She had been devastated about what had happened in her life but it was nothing compared to the suffering endured by Ed. And yet he seemed to be so comfortable in his skin, content with his life, even willing to resume and repeat the danger-filled activities he loved.

  Why had she always chosen the well-trodden path? Craving order, stability, control? She didn’t have to delve too deeply into her past to find the answer. She had lived through her parents’ separation and then her father’s subsequent flight to another country to live with a woman he’d met over the internet, which sent a clear message to her and Jess that regular contact with them was not a priority for him.

  Her early years had coincided with the height of her mother’s popularity when her face was one of the most recognisable on TV as she coaxed an avid, drooling audience to dust off their mixing bowls and reacquaint themselves with their love of home-baking. She had also provided a listening ear for Jess when Lewis and Jack’s father had emulated their own father’s abandonment. Was it any wonder she had craved a secure life with Alex – a man who took routine to a new level? No flying down zip wires for him! The most danger-filled exploit he’d undertaken in the years they’d been dating was taking the tube home after ten p.m. But wasn’t that what had attracted her to him in the first place? Wasn’t that what she wanted too?

  Despite the silence of the journey home, she felt an affinity with Ed that she’d never had with Alex. Whenever she’d eaten out in London with Alex it had been a rushed affair, usually because Alex had arrived late after some crisis at the office or they were anxious to get to the theatre or cinema in time to see the first scene. Also, conversation with Alex almost always centred around his dreams and ambitions for the advancement of his legal career and gossip about his colleagues, most of whom she hadn’t met. He never showed the slightest interest in her passionate pursuit of culinary excellence. Unlike Alex, Ed listened carefully to everything she said, asking her to expand on comments that piqued his interest such as her experience in the Greek bakery, before offering a considered opinion or suggestion or anecdote of his own. It had been a while since she had enjoyed herself so much on a night out that didn’t involve Hollie or Steph.

  Richmond slumbered beneath the glow of the street lamps which washed the houses with a warm amber light . Rectangles of light peeked from behind drawn curtains and blinds. The pavements glistened with a slick coating of rain and sporadic puddles rippled like scattered mirrors of black. As Ed pulled up at the kerb outside her mother’s house, her heart performed a vigorous concerto against her ribcage as she wondered if he would lean over the gearstick and kiss her again. She thought back to the moment they’d shared on the wooden platform high up in the tree tops when he’d held her close and a ripple of anticipation had shot down her spine.

  His eyes met hers and a sharp jolt of electricity sparked through her chest. ‘I’m sorry about, well, about dumping my gloomy story on
you.’

  ‘Gosh, you don’t have to apologise. It’s me you’re talking to, remember – Lucie Bradshaw, the girl who is an expert when it comes to dumping her personal baggage into conversations! In public!’

  The bubble of sexual tension that had been expanding since they’d arrived at her door increased. Ed reached over to take her hand, sending a shock spasm of desire from her abdomen southwards and fizzing out to her extremities. The scent of his cologne and the tannin from his leather jacket rippled through the air between them, heightening her senses. He closed the distance between them until she could feel his warm, minty breath on her cheek. Her emotions went into overdrive when his lips touched hers and all thought of the world beyond the windscreen vanished into irrelevance. She had never experienced the emotions that Ed Cartolli seemed to light up within her. If she had said it out loud it would have sounded ridiculous, trite even, but she felt like the heroine in one of her favourite rom-coms.

  But Hugh Grant wasn’t a patch on the man who had laced his fingers through her hair at the nape of her neck, stroking his thumb rhythmically into her hairline. She lost herself in the pleasurable sensation of being kissed, softly, carefully to begin with, but becoming more ardent as she gave in to her heightening emotions.

  When they finally pulled apart she was breathless and gave him a tentative smile. She would have happily remained in Ed’s silver Alfa Romeo until dawn sent its fissures of apricot and ivory over the horizon. Not that she would have noticed nature’s welcome to a new day as the windows had steamed up in a curious parallel to her own state of mind.

  ‘Goodnight, Lucie.’

  Ed gave her the benefit of his devastating smile once more and, as she made her way up the cracked pathway to her front door, Lucie couldn’t feel the ground beneath her feet. She wasn’t sure what had just happened between them, or why there was such a kaleidoscope of emotions tumbling around her brain, but what she did know was that she wanted nothing else but for it to happen again.

  The sooner the better.

  Chapter Nineteen

  ‘Jess, we’ve got to hurry up! We’ve got twelve ten-year-olds to entertain in an hour’s time. We need every cake pop you can make!’

  ‘I’m going as fast as I can. Lewis, why don’t you help us roll this cake mixture into balls and Lucie can put the sticks in and shape them into the animals? There’s just enough time to chill them before we set off. I’ll sort out the candy melts and the paints.’

  ‘What paints?’ asked Lewis, as he tied on the miniature apron his mother handed to him.

  ‘Don’t worry, it’s only food colouring,’ Lucie laughed.

  After a few minutes they had a production line going and the fifty chocolate-flavoured cake pops were attached to their sticks and hardening in the freezer. They would be decorated with softened candy melts by the guests at Maddy’s party. Once the coating had solidified they would decorate them with a multicoloured medley of food colouring, edible glitter and sprinkles. There were paintbrushes for each child to take home with them after the party along with their masterpieces of sugar-fuelled artistry and personalised chefs’ hats.

  Lucie had spent the morning baking Maddy’s birthday cake. The birthday girl had requested a chocolate cake which Lucie had whipped up quickly. She sliced the two cakes in half and sandwiched the four layers with chocolate buttercream, then piped ruffles over the whole cake. Finally, she topped it with a basket of flowers made from fondant icing and windmills made by hand from paper printed with Maddy’s name – there were windmills for each of her party guests to take home too.

  In addition to the cake pops the guests would create, Lucie and Jess had spent the previous evening making a selection to sell to the parents. They had decided on a theme of ice-cream sundaes and had decorated them with pastel-coloured candy melts topped with tiny, hand-rolled cherries and hundreds and thousands. Lucie had taken advantage of the opportunity to showcase her artistry and had made a selection of vintage ice creams, ice lollies and popsicles. Her favourite was the tutti-frutti ice lolly, which brought back happy childhood memories. They looked too good to eat when they were wrapped in transparent cellophane and tied with a polka-dot ribbon.

  Jess had carved a three-tier cake from blocks of polystyrene that she’d covered in pink tissue paper to display the cake pops. Lewis and Jack had joined in to help make colourful paper roses, pom-poms and tassels. Lewis had even designed a flag announcing ‘Happy Birthday Maddy’, which Jess had attached to a garden cane. They also made paper fans and bows, which they attached to a garland to drape around the village hall where the party was being held.

  Lucie had forgotten the pleasure to be found in spending an evening indulging in creative crafts that involved the whole family working together. They’d reminisced about their love of all-things-crafty when they were children, and they’d gossiped all night, teasing the boys by putting pink flowers in their hair, giggling and laughing and singing along to music.

  The shrill insistence of the telephone had interrupted their crafting shenanigans. Lucie was surprised to discover that her immediate response was one of panic and an urge to let it ring unanswered. What if it was Ed?

  It hadn’t been Ed; it had been her mother calling for an update on her employment status and expressing her concern that she was ‘ditching all her expensive training to become a children’s party host’.

  After she’d reassured her mother that she was happy and utilising every single skill she’d learned at Le Cordon Bleu and more, she had questioned the reasons behind her weird reaction when she’d thought it might be Ed calling to ask her out on a second date. Surely after the intensity of their connection she should be craving a repeat performance? Probing deeper, she realised she was alarmed at the effect Ed Cartolli had had on her in such a short space of time. She had never experienced such a maelstrom of emotions – not with Alex, not with anyone – and was struggling to interpret what they meant.

  She had fudged her response to the gentle enquiry from Jess about her day out with Ed, and her sister had taken the hint. After all, hadn’t it been Jess who’d suggested Ed was the perfect ‘rebound person’ to spend time with, someone she couldn’t become emotionally involved with? And was that what had happened? Was she succumbing to his charms? If so, she had to steer a wide berth because, from what she had witnessed in Paris, Ed Cartolli was a heart-breaker and she’d had her fill of that! Then, contrarily, she had started to wonder why he hadn’t called!

  ‘Ignore Mum, Lucie. She’s just worried about you and it’s her way of showing it. I know for a fact she’s proud of everything we’ve both achieved. She didn’t tell you, but she bought twenty copies of the local newspaper when they ran that piece on the local girl who’d graduated from the prestigious Le Cordon Bleu.’

  Lucie hugged Jess. She felt more connected to her family than she had for years. It was a timely reminder that, now their parents both lived in different countries, Jess and her children were her closest relatives and she should treasure every moment she spent with them. She counted her blessings and made a promise that, even if her life took her away from Richmond in the future, she would never again leave it so long between visits. She felt like she was really taking control of her life at last.

  ‘Yay! Auntie Lucie, come and play outside with me!’ Jack came running into the kitchen dripping water on the floor having been sprayed by Lewis with the hosepipe. He grabbed a handful of peanut-butter cookies from the pile Lucie had set on the marble kitchen island to cool and shoved them into the pocket of his hoodie before searching for a bottle of juice.

  ‘What exactly are you doing, Jack?’

  ‘Lewis said we can have a picnic in the van! And that all my bears are invited!’

  He dashed upstairs, thumping about above their heads until he reappeared with a wide grin and three stuffed bears sporting baseball caps slotted under his arms. ‘Got them!’ And then he sprinted out of the kitchen and into the garage.

  What is it with five-year-olds, Lucie
wondered, always living their lives at a hundred miles an hour? There was the sound of a door slamming, followed by the tinkle of the familiar tune, then again and then again. Gosh, the neighbours must really be regretting their choice of business transport! While she loved the nostalgia of the tinny symphony, she knew it could get irritating when played ad infinitum.

  She sauntered outside to see Lewis at the wheel giving lessons to Jack on how the dashboard controls worked and letting him press the silver button. A waft of toxic exhaust fumes breached her nostrils from the driveway next door as the owner worked on his car engine and she grimaced.

  ‘You know you must never turn the engine on, don’t you, Lewis?’ She wafted her hand over her nose. ‘Come on, you two, why don’t you help me and your mum to load up for Maddy’s party before your sitter arrives? If you do a good job, you can have a cake pop each.’

  ‘Yay! Cake pops!’ shrieked Jack, tumbling out from the back of the ice-cream van with Lewis in his wake as they chased ahead of her into the kitchen to select a treat before she changed her mind.

  ‘Okay, let’s get going,’ said Jess, depositing a kiss on the boys’ foreheads and thanking their brave sitter, Pippa.

  They trundled down the narrow West London streets, lined with hawthorn and beech hedges, in search of the party venue. An electric blue canopy arched overhead, interspersed with fast-moving, woolly, Simpsonesque clouds.