by Lindy Dale
Cue huge sigh of relief. I had to admit, even if Angus and I didn’t see eye to eye all the time, he knew his stuff. The man had more connections than a telephone company.
Pulling the sleeve of my cardigan back, I glanced at my watch. I scanned the footpath. Sam was nowhere in sight. “I guess Sam’s running late. Why don’t we go in and I’ll give him a ring. He won’t mind if we start without him as long as we save him a few slices.”
“Oh, absolutely,” Angus replied, pulling the front door open.
“Wait for us!” A shot of pink came hurtling across the road. Two sets of heels stopped in front of the bistro tables near the door.
“O.M.G!.... puff, puff….. That freakin’ car park is like a…. puff, puff… total nightmare today,” Kirby gasped, bending double to catch her breath.
Beside her Mel, looked cool as usual and not at all like she’d sprinted three blocks in heels. She gave me a hug and kissed Angus on the cheek.
“I think what Kirbs is trying to say is that her parking is a nightmare. She has that teensy bloody jellybean of a car and still it took her five goes to get into a spot big enough for a fucking semi-trailer. Plus, she hasn’t been to the gym since she split up with Rambo so we had to keep stopping while she caught her breath. Isn’t that right, hon’?”
From her bent over position, Kirby pulled a face. “No. It, like, totally is not. I’m, like, a very good driver, thank you very much. Ryan used to make me drive all the time.”
“Only so he could get on the booze.”
Kirby stood up straight. She slung her gigantic pink crocodile tote back over her arm and adjusted her long blonde curls. “You’re probably right. Useless arse. Anyway, enough about him, let’s go taste some cake. Is there, like, such a thing as carb-free?”
“Yes,” Mel replied, giving her a bit of a shove in the direction of the door. “It’s called fresh air. Now get in that shop.”
Madame Bouchard’s bakery was as unimpressive in the interior as it was on the outside though it did have a sort of quirky charm. The jarrah timber floors were scrubbed and shining. The walls, the colour of double cream, were bare apart from a huge clock that hung over the back of the counter. Two large glass cases displayed a selection of cakes and pastries. It reminded me of the shop in my favourite Johnny Depp movie, Chocolate.
We walked over to the counter and Angus placed a manicured finger on the bell. A small cat-like woman appeared from a door that led to the back of the shop. She had the sort of grey hair that only a few women are fortunate enough to be graced with as they age. The type that’s such a perfect colour it makes them look younger and more stylish. And she clearly wasn’t young.
Madame Bouchard had high cheekbones and rather large brown eyes surrounded by unnaturally long black lashes. Her eyebrows were carefully shaped and it was easy to see that even in her latter years, she took great pride in her appearance. I could picture her as a young woman, sitting in a street café drinking café au lait and smoking cigarettes. She was so, well, French. A large smile lit up her face as she came around the counter to greet us. She wasn’t much taller than Paige. It would have been very easy to lose her in a crowd.
“’Allo Angus,” she cooed. “And you are Millicent, no?”
It’s amazing how the French accent can make any name sound pretty. I could have been a Gertrude and been satisfied the way she said it.
“Yes. But I prefer Millie.”
“Millie.”
She nodded.
“These are my two of my bridesmaids, Melanie and Kirby.”
“A pleasure, no,” Madame Bouchard nodded again. “And where is your young man?”
“He’s running late but we can start without him. That’s fine.” And anyway, the girls and I had a tonne of stuff to get done after this. I didn’t have time to wait while Sam did what ever it was that was holding him up.
“Very well. Now after our conversation on ze phone, I rack my brains for ze perfect cake for lovely couple and I am thinking what about White Chocolate Angelfood Cake with ze raspberry filling and white chocolate butter cream icing? We top with ze delicate swirls of milk and dark chocolate and kitsch bride and groom made from fondant, oui?”
It sounded so good, I almost began to drool.
“Oh oui, Madame. Most definitely oui!” The woman was a French mind reader. This was what Sam and I wanted. And it sounded as if I’d found it without having to try thirty different cakes.
“Right-ho,” she said. “I go get ze samples, just to get ze taste absolute correct and pictures of bride and groom and cake shapes and we make ze decision, yes?”
I nodded with enthusiasm.
As Madame Bouchard left, I slipped my phone from my pocket and tried Sam’s number again. It went straight to message bank. Sam hated message bank. He never checked his messages justifying that if the caller was that desperate to reach him, they’d call back. I sent him a text instead.
Where are you? I’m already trying cakes!!
There was no reply.
“I wonder where he’s got to? Maybe he stopped to check out the suits? I asked him to have a look and see what he thought the other day. It’d be like him to try and get all the errands done at once.”
“I’ll ring The Lederhosen and see if he’s left,” Mel said.
“I can try the tailor shop. I, like, have them on speed dial,” Kirby smiled.
I didn’t bother to ask why she would need a tailor’s on speed dial. I knew the explanation would be beyond my realm of comprehension.
“And I’ll try his work mobile, shall I?” Angus asked.
Pulling his phone from the purpose-designed padded pocket in his bag, Angus dialled Sam. No answer. He sent a text. No reply. Then he tried Sam’s mother. If there were one person guaranteed to know where Sam was, it’d be Patricia. We’d had to email her our appointment schedule every week in advance so she could reach us at all times. God knows why.
“Hello, Mrs. Brockton? It’s Angus Adams calling. I was wondering if you’d seen Sam today? Millie and I are at the bakery and I was under the impression that he was going to be in attendance but he seems to have been delayed.”
The sound of ranting, like angry chipmunks, emanated from the earpiece in Angus’s phone. Angus’s shoulders tensed as he held the device away from his ear. His face took on a rather pinched look. “Right. I’ll tell her.”
As if in slow motion, like his body had run out of batteries, Angus bent over the side of the table and put his phone back into his bag. He was down there for a considerable amount of time and it wasn’t to compare Kirby’s heels with his own. I was convinced he was attempting to prepare himself for what I’d do when he told me what Patricia had said. Obviously, it was going to be bad.
At last, he sat, straight-backed against the chair. He adjusted his bow tie and took a deep breath. “It appears that Sam will not be joining us today. He’s left instructions for you to choose whatever cake you like. He also said Amanda is on her way to help you.”
I knew it. I just knew it.
“Why?” Mel asked. “Does he think we’re incapable of tasting a bit of fucking cake by ourselves?”
“Sam’s mother is poorly. He’s staying at the hotel to look after her.” Angus appeared to cringe as if he thought I was going to throw something at him. Luckily, the table we were at was empty.
I sat for a moment letting his words sink in. How had this happened? Sam had been all set to come when I’d reminded him on the way home in the car last night. He’d gone so far as to tell me how he’d cleared his morning schedule.
Now his mother was ill? Patricia had been fine when she’d been telling me how pathetic my choices were. More than likely she was having a tantrum because she didn’t like our idea for the cake and was annoyed because I wouldn’t compromise. That was it. She was resorting to dirty tactics. And Sam had been sucked into the middle of it.
Mel shook her head in disgust. “That woman’s a piece of work. She’s doing this on purpose to get at you. And the stick insect sist
er is only coming to get you to change your mind.”
At least I wasn’t alone in my suspicions.
“This is unbelievable,” I said. “After the effort he went to, to clear his diary. I thought he was excited.”
“Absolutely ridiculous. Where the fuck are his balls?”
“Like, in his mother’s hand by the sound of it.” Kirby’s full pink mouth pouted in disappointment. “You know, I always thought Sam was, like, the strong one of the boys. Gosh, even Rambo wouldn’t have chosen his mother over me.”
As Madame Bouchard re-emerged from her kitchen, a wooden tray of cake samples spread over the surface like all my ideas of heaven in one place, I lost my appetite. I didn’t care. Sam’s mother had gotten in his ear, convincing him he didn’t need to be here. And worse, he’d listened. He’d made a complete fool out of me in front of the girls and Angus. He was meant to be the big tough rugby player who was going to take care of me forever and he was bending to a whim of his mother’s. Again. What was wrong with him?
Madame Bouchard placed the tray on the table. I looked at the heavenly amounts of chocolate cake that under other circumstances would have signified some sort of reaction in my loins. Then I had the idea to trump all ideas. If Patricia wanted to play dirty and use my fiancé as the pawn, I’d take a roll in the mud, too.
“Which is the most expensive?” I asked.
Madame Bouchard pointed.
I took up a fork and cut off a small slither, putting it to my mouth. It was glorious. “I’ll have that one please. Now. Flavouring. Which would go best and costs the most?”
She pointed, I tasted. It was excellent.
A small smile of knowing formed on Mel’s lips as she forked a mouthful of the two samples into her mouth. “Oh Millie, you sneaky bitch.”
“She asked for it.”
Twenty minutes later, decisions made and head held remarkably high, I walked out of Madame Bouchard’s bakery just as Amanda appeared. Angus was scurrying along behind, somewhat in shock I think at what had occurred. I had done a complete back flip and ordered the most elaborate wedding cake known to man ~ in the flavours I wanted. Madame Bouchard had done a mock up on her techie cake building software and sent it as an email to Sam and Patricia’s phones. God, I hoped Sam’s mother would fall over and die with shock when she saw the monumentally up-scaled computer version of the original cake idea. At five times the original size and with the kitsch bride and groom now dressed in edible 14ct gold and silver, it cost somewhere around fifteen grand, I think. If that cow wanted me to spend money, then spend money I would. Well, until Sam grew some balls, stood up to his mother and we got back to some form of normality. I was not going to live my life bending to the whims of that dragon.
Amanda stopped in front of us. She looked up at the sign and down at us and plastered a smile on her face that was clearly faker than the manufactured diamond Kirby wore to scare unsuitable men away.
“Oh hello,” she said. “I’ve been up and down this block for the last twenty minutes looking for the shop. Its rather non-descript isn’t it?”
Ha. She’d never be able to say that about my wedding cake.
*****
Sam slammed the pictures of our wedding cake down on the desk. He was fighting hard to keep a lid on his anger, a side of him I had never witnessed before. His eyes were bulging and a vein had popped up on the side of his neck and was throbbing in snycronisation with his words.
“What’s this?”
“That’s our wedding cake.”
“Don’t be smart, Mill’ you know what I mean.”
It looked like the tables had turned. At last, I was the one in charge. If he thought I was going to let his mother run our lives, he had another thing coming. “I’m not being smart. You told me to choose what I wanted and this is what I want.”
“But I thought we were having the ‘small tasteful cake’ with the cute couple on top? What happened to that?”
I tried not to smirk. I could feel him squirming at the sheer enormity of this cake. “It’s the same cake. Just bigger. And bling-ier. Your mother should love it.”
Sam picked up the picture and turned it on an angle. He squinted as if trying to shrink it in his mind. His face went red like he was going to explode and his voice rose to a pitch I’d never heard in a man before. “It’s fucking huge! Since when did this become what we want?”
“Since your mother decided to pull that little stunt this morning so you wouldn’t be able to come to the cake tasting. I felt like a fool, Sam. You left me there with Angus and the girls.”
“But Mum was sick. She had one of her turns.”
“That’s bullshit and you know it. She was no more sick than I’m freakin’ Beyonce in disguise. She put that on so you’d stay home with her. She wanted to show me who’s in charge. Then she sent Amanda along to talk me into something I didn’t want because she thought I’d back down if you weren’t there. It was divide and conquer. She never wanted us to have a simple cake and if you’d been there that’s exactly what we would have ordered.”
“So you thought you’d spend…” he peered at the faxed quote, “Fourteen thousand eight hundred dollars?”
“And fifty cents.”
“But why?”
“Because one of us has to stand up to her and, clearly, it wasn’t going to be you.”
“Jesus, Mill’, I never realised you were such a bitch.”
I stormed out of the room. Surely, there had to be someone in this world who understood.
*****
I sat at the bar at The Lederhosen, a basket of sodden lukewarm chips in front of me. Every now and then, I picked one up and looked at it then put it back in the basket. This whole cake episode had left a funny feeling in my mouth and I had no appetite at all. Instead of wanting to gloat, I wanted to throw up. Had I become just like Sam’s mother by playing such a dirty trick? Was I the bitch Sam had called me? God, I wished this stupid wedding was over and Sam and I were at the B&B in Lombok, drinking Pina Coladas on the verandah.
Alex was behind the bar, stacking the dirty glasses. She’d been promoted to Bar Manager while Diane was in hospital having a boob reduction. I’d been thrilled for her at the time, but now I never seemed to see her anymore. She was always working or at the gym. She was never available to talk like she used to be.
I’d been ranting for a few minutes before she spoke.
“You did what?”
I slid my finger into the chip basket and flipped over a couple of chips. None appealed. “I ordered a massive wedding cake.”
Alex was looking towards the other end of the bar. She didn’t seem to be giving me her full attention. An old man was waving a twenty-dollar note in the air and screaming, “Girlie.”
“Hang on a sec’.” She raced off to serve the customer, then paused to refill someone else’s beer on the way back. At last, she stopped in front of me, leaning her hip on the bar and giving her top a hoist up around the cleavage. She was wearing a new, smaller uniform, which was extremely short but looked good on her. The straining buttons were a thing of the past. She looked flushed from the rush but sort of happy. Maybe it was the extra responsibility.
“So, what’d you do that for?” She smoothed her apron and fluffed up her dirndl skirt. I wished she’d look me in the eye so we could have a proper conversation. “I thought you wanted a small cake?”
“I did but Patricia decided to play dirty.” I began to tell her about what had happened but before I could reach the conclusion to my story, she was off down the other end of the bar for a second time.
“Sorry about that,” she said, returning at last. “Continue, Chica.”
“So, then I sent her a photo.”
“Why?”
God, how did I know why? Alex was the one who had a myriad of reasons why for me to consider. I did things and she told me why. Had I done it to piss Patricia off? To make Sam behave? All of the above. Now that it was done, I couldn’t undo it and I wouldn’t anyway. Tha
t would be admitting I was wrong.
“I mean, do you think that was wise? You know, red rag, bull. All that.” She bent under the bar and cursed a little in Greek. “Bloody keg’s run out. Sam swore he’d changed it over before he left.”
I watched as she dashed out the back door and down to the keg room.
Alex came back a couple of minutes later. Taking up a bottle from the shelf behind her, she went to refill old Tom’s scotch on the rocks. Then she chatted to a couple of punters and laughed and flirted. She rushed here and there opening packets of nuts and putting them into baskets and getting buckets of ice. It was like she’d forgotten I was there.
I sat and stared at my cold chips. The gravy had begun to congeal into little brown globs on the top of them and I pushed them aside. This was not a nice feeling at all. I wanted to talk. I had to get this off my chest and get some direction on where to go next. Alex was my best friend and bridesmaid. She was my problem solver. How could I talk if she wouldn’t listen? I hopped off my stool and got my wallet off the bar. I already felt like crap. This was only making it worse.
“I guess I’ll see you later then.”
“Yeah, text me,” she replied over her shoulder. Then she picked up a cloth and began to polish glasses. Seriously, they were already the cleanest glasses in Perth.
Where did I go now? Who was I meant to talk to? Mel was working on a big case and Sasha had started a week of night shift. In her attempt to give up smoking by the time the wedding came, she had some bizarre theory that working nights and seeing new born babies would help her cause. I didn’t want to share with Kirby. Though I liked her and found her fun, there was only so much pink I could have in any given day and I had a feeling my quota had already been exceeded at the cake shop. That only left one person. The one person who was guaranteed to listen. Taking out my phone, I sent a text.
Chapter 13
Late that afternoon, I parked my car in the car park of the Nedlands Rugby Club and went around the back to let the children out of their seats. It was a sunny afternoon and we headed along the jogging path to a bench overlooking the foreshore. Out on the river, boats were bobbing up and down on their buoys and wind surfers jumped the white caps. An overweight man was attempting to get in a kayak that was too small for the width of his buttocks and he wobbled for a few seconds before plunging into the river. I knew how he felt. I was plunging into the depths of despair. I didn’t want to fight with Sam. I didn’t want to be ignored by my friends. I wanted my life back the way it used to be before this wedding fiasco had started.
