Baked with Love

by Izzy Bayliss

  I quickly mixed up a new batch of scones, feeling the therapeutic effects of kneading my hands deeply into the dough. When I had them in the oven, I opened up the magazine again. I couldn’t help myself.

  I looked through the paparazzi photographs of the two of them; there was one of Marc wearing a baseball cap and dark aviator sunglasses pushing Marley on a swing while he read something on his phone. There was another of Nadia carrying their son on her hip and shielding his face from the cameras as she rushed down the steps of their home and into a waiting car. You couldn’t see the child’s face, but he had long, curly, white-blonde hair. He looked gorgeous, but then that was to be expected with two good-looking parents.

  A source close to the couple has said that Marc, who had a minor role in “The Recluse” but hasn’t had any major success since, is finding it hard living in the eclipse of his partner’s stellar career. Apparently, the couple has entered crisis talks assisted by renowned relationship therapist to the stars Fiona Farrington. A representative for the couple declined to comment when asked about the story. Let’s hope they can work things out for the sake of their son, Marley.

  Even though Marc had left me for this woman, I didn’t feel jealous anymore. I was just sad for everyone’s sake, especially for little Marley who was too young to understand the drama he was born into. Although, I had never thought I would say it, I really hoped it was working out for them. It was amazing how I had come full-circle. Sometimes I even amazed myself.

  When the scones were finished I went back out to help Dad when I saw Frankie there chatting to him.

  “How are you doing?” she asked, pushing her sunglasses up into her auburn hair.

  “I’m okay,” I said, making a sad face. “It’s going to be a long six months. I’m already missing him and he hasn’t even landed there yet.” I sighed.

  “It’s only six months, Lily, that’s no time. Come on,” she said, putting her hand over mine.”

  I knew she just didn’t get it. “So what can I get you?”

  “I’m so hung-over. I’ll have the strongest coffee you have.”

  “Where were you last night?” I asked, grinding beans to make her a double espresso.

  “At a launch party for ‘Second Skin.’ So how about we head out for some cocktails tonight to cheer you up – I hate seeing my best friend so sad.”

  “I thought you were hung-over?” I said.

  “I am but I’ll need a cure later, won’t I? I’ll call back after eight, will you be ready then?”

  “I guess . . .” I wasn’t in the mood of going out socializing, but I knew that heading back to a lonely apartment all by myself would only make me feel worse. I needed to keep myself as distracted as possible or else the next six months would feel like an eternity.

  “Great, see you later!”

  I had just finishing icing a carrot cake with orange-flavoured frosting when I checked my phone and saw I had a text from Sam:

  “Just landed now and on my way to the apartment. Missing you so much already xxx”

  I felt tears spring into my eyes. My heart physically ached for him. How was I going to survive for the next six months?

  CHAPTER 8

  Somehow I made it through the next few days. Sam and I kept in touch mainly with Skype. The time difference was a pain; it meant he usually called me when I was mid-chaos in Baked with Love. I would run into the kitchen for a minute to chat to him, but inevitably Dad would need to ask me something or else after having had no customers for hours, several would arrive at once and I would see Dad struggling to keep on top of the queue. Or when I finally got home in the evenings and was free to talk, Sam was already busy in the office. Other times the screen would freeze or there was a time delay as we spoke, so it was very difficult to have a proper chat. He seemed to really like his new role though, and although the work was challenging, he was getting great experience.

  Baked with Love was still struggling. Some days it was so bad that I could count on one hand the number of customers that we had. I would lie awake for hours at night worrying about it. I was so afraid this business was going to fail. Whenever I mentioned it to Dad, he would shrug me off telling me it was still early days, but the truth was I was really starting to panic. Every night I was dropping off tray-loads of unsold goods into the nearby homeless shelter. Father Joe who ran the centre gladly accepted whatever I had left over, he said sometimes a mug of warm tea and a sticky cinnamon bun were the only good things that these people had in their day, and I was glad that I could help them out in my own small way rather than seeing it all go to waste.

  I had told Frankie about my concerns the night we had gone out together.

  “I think I’ve bitten off more than I can chew,” I had sighed.

  “There’s no point in having the world’s loveliest bakery – and it is the world’s loveliest bakery – if nobody knows you exist! You need to up the marketing. Why don’t you drop in free tea or coffee vouchers to the offices nearby?” she had said.

  “But I can’t afford to give away stuff for free! I’m trying to save my business not send the whole thing further under!” I argued back with her.

  “No, of course not, but you take the risk that they’ll buy something when they’re in there, and if not, then at least they know where the place is and you hope they’ll be future customers.”

  “It’s worth a try, I guess,” I said uncertainly. At this stage I was so desperate that I would do anything, so the next day I had called up the company who printed my business cards and asked them to design some fliers for me. I really hoped it would work and wouldn’t be the final nail on the coffin for Baked with Love.

  * * *

  I was working away in the café one day when the bell sounded with its little trrring and I saw the woman with the baby come through the door. I had got to know her name over the last few weeks as Claire and her baby was Ellie.

  I smiled as she came up to the counter. “She’s getting big,” I said, gesturing to the pram. Even in the space of a few weeks, I could see that she had grown a lot.

  “This place is my saviour,” she said, eyeing up the cakes. “It’s five minutes of heaven in the day.”

  So, are you getting any more sleep?” I asked.

  “No,” she sighed. “I think I’ve accepted that she might sleep by the time she’s eighteen and anything before that is a bonus.”

  “That’s a good outlook,” I laughed.

  I made her usual latte and then placed a steaming brownie on a plate for her. She needed something warm and chocolatey to give her a lift.

  “How did you know I was going to choose that?” she said, looking at me open-mouthed.

  “Oh, you pick up a thing or two when you do my job; you get to know what people need.”

  Claire pushed the pram over and sat down on the sofa. She lifted Ellie up, and I watched as her eyes, two huge pools of blue, popped open and looked around until she focused on her mother. Then her little face broke into a gummy smile, and I watched as Claire beamed back at her. I felt my heart soar watching the two of them caught up in their own little bubble.

  My phone rang lifting me out of my thoughts. I saw it was Clara and was torn between ignoring it, but then guilt got me at the last minute and I pressed the answer button.

  “Hi, Clara,” I said. “What’s up?”

  “You haven’t seen the boys in weeks, they’ll have forgotten what you look like -” She got straight to the point as usual.

  “Sorry, Clara, I’ve been so busy lately between Baked with Love and Sam leaving . . .”

  “We’re all busy, Lily, but you have to make time for people. Call over on Saturday.”

  “Right,” I sighed. “I’ll see you then.”

  I knew her motivations had nothing to do with the boys and instead was a veil for her to interrogate me. She liked to find out what areas of my life were weak, and then she would attack me right there in that very spot.

  “What is it?” Dad asked after I had
hung up.

  “I’ve been summoned. Clara has invited me over on Saturday.”

  He laughed.

  “Please come with me, Dad, don’t make me go on my own!” Dad would always step in when she went too far.

  “I can’t, Lily, sorry, I’ve a golf tournament.”

  “I guess I’m going solo then,” I said, groaning.

  * * *

  The following Saturday I followed Clara down along the chequered tiles into the kitchen where her husband, Tom, was reading the newspaper at one end of the table while the boys were playing with Play-Doh at the other.

  “Good to see you, Lily,” Tom said, folding down the broadsheet and leaving it on the table in front of him.

  “What are you making?” I asked Jacob, taking a seat beside him.

  “The seven wonders of the world.”

  “I see . . .” These kids are prodigies – I couldn’t even name the seven wonders of the world let alone make them.

  Clara busied herself making some tea that she insisted I had to try for its purifying properties. It probably came from the ground-down toenail fungus of some virgin girl living in the Amazon rainforest.

  “For God’s sake, Lily – don’t let them mix up the colours!” Clara said, grabbing a piece of green Play-Doh and a blue piece out of Joshua’s hands before setting the teapot down on the table and joining us.

  Tom risked a wry smile from the side of his mouth.

  “So how’s business?” Tom asked.

  “To be honest it’s slow, some days are better than others, but I’ll be honest, it’s taking longer than I thought to get up and running.”

  “That’s always going to be the way it is with a new business. It takes time to get word of mouth out there,” Tom said encouragingly.

  “What you need to do is to cut costs – improve your margins!” Clara interjected. “Instead of butter, use margarine. Instead of those fancy napkins, go for the two-ply ones, they will suffice just as well.”

  “But I like those napkins!” I said. I knew I was a touch defensive, but hearing criticism from Clara was like someone criticizing my child. I had built that business from nothing, starting in my tiny kitchen back in Ballyrobin. I had poured blood, sweat, and tears into it. I liked that I didn’t skimp on the little details. When other bakeries were using artificial butter, I insisted on using the real deal because I knew it was what made my cakes golden and spongy. It was those little things that I hoped would set Baked with Love apart from all the other bakeries around town. I didn’t want to cut corners, but sometimes I felt so disheartened. I was putting everything into it but nothing seemed to be working.

  “Okay, well, if your business goes down the toilet you can cry into your fancy napkins,” Clara said.

  “Now, Clara,” Tom said kindly, “I think Lily knows what she’s doing.”

  “I really appreciate everything you’ve done for me, Tom,” I said. “There would be no bakery if it wasn’t for you.”

  “Don’t mention it – think of it as payback for all the times you’ve helped us out minding the kids.”

  “They’re her nephews! It’s a privilege for her to spend time with them,” Clara stated.

  “So how’s Sam getting on the secondment?” Tom asked, changing the subject.

  “Great, he seems to be really enjoying himself. I miss him though.”

  “It’s only for six months. Pull yourself together and stop moping,” Clara said.

  “I’m not moping.”

  “Honestly, you snowflakes . . .” She shook her head pityingly at me.

  “Clara, you’re only three years older than me!”

  “Exactly,” she said, nodding self-satisfactorily.

  I groaned. I would never win with Clara, so I don’t know why I bothered.

  CHAPTER 9

  Rain trickled down the windows in fast-flowing rivulets. Outside people held umbrellas high above their heads and dodged puddles below their feet. My heart sank; I knew this weather would be bad business. Nobody in their right mind would venture out on a day like this. Dad hurried through the door a short while later and shook the droplets off his umbrella. The ends of his trousers were soaking where the rain had seeped up through the fabric.

  “The Irish weather is really playing a blinder,” I muttered.

  “It’s only a shower, the sun will be out before you know it.”

  “Dad, it’s torrential rain out there!” I had to laugh at his optimism. He always looked for the brighter side of every situation, but I had to say he was an antidote to my darker mood over the last while. “You go and dry off those trousers, and I’ll make us a cuppa.”

  For the first two hours after we had opened, nobody came through the door. Not a single person. The streets were empty as the rain continued to fall steadily. I looked at all my baked goods with dismay. I knew I was going to be giving most, if not all, of it to the homeless shelter again that night.

  I heard the bell ring, and I startled to see an older lady rush in through the door holding a little girl by the hand. She shook off her umbrella.

  I smiled a warm hello. “It’s miserable out there,” I said sympathetically as she took off the child’s raincoat.

  “We’re supposed to be going to Lottie’s music class, but we’re after getting soaked. Then I saw this place, like a haven, and I’ve never been so glad to see somewhere to shelter.”

  She walked up to the counter.

  “Come on, Lottie, let’s treat ourselves after that ordeal.” The little girl smiled up at her while she looked at the display with confusion. “I don’t know what to give you, Lottie love,” she eventually said, looking down at her granddaughter.

  “Chocolate cake, Nana,” Lottie said, nodding her head with certainty. “I like chocolate cake.”

  The woman laughed. “Oh, I know you do, sweetheart, but I don’t think your mum and dad would be too happy with me if I gave you that –”

  “How about a honey cookie?” I said. “I’ve substituted the sugar with honey so they’re a bit healthier for little people.”

  “Me want honey cookie,” Lottie said, jumping up and down.

  “Oh, thank God,” the woman said, sighing with relief. “My son and daughter-in-law are very keen on healthy eating. It’s all sugar-free this and dairy-free that . . . and don’t talk to me about e-numbers . . . They have so many rules that I get confused about what Lottie can and cannot have to be honest. My head is addled! I’ll take one of those and put another in a bag for later. Bribery,” she said with a wink.

  “Absolutely! Anyway, it’s a grandmother’s prerogative to spoil her grandkids, isn’t it?”

  She beamed at me like finally somebody understood her. “Yes, it is,” she said conspiratorially, “but don’t tell that to my son!”

  We both laughed. “And what can I get for you?”

  “I’ll have a pot of tea and . . .” She glanced longingly at the cakes behind the glass. “I know I shouldn’t really . . . but that lemon curd cake looks so good . . .”

  “Good choice,” Dad said over my shoulder before she could change her mind. “It’s delicious.”

  “You sit down there and get settled, and we’ll bring your tea and cake right over,” I said.

  They walked down and took a seat in the nook. Lottie and her grandmother were our only customers for the rest of the morning. Sometimes she would catch my eye and give me a sympathetic smile, which just made me feel worse about how quiet we were.

  After a while, when the rain had petered out to a drizzle, they packed up their stuff to leave. She stopped and came over to me on her way out the door.

  “I just wanted to tell you that I haven’t tasted a curd like that since I was a child. It was delicious, the way it melted on the tongue and then the buttery shortcrust!” She smacked her lips together. “I’ll be dreaming of it for the rest of the day!”

  “Lily likes to use the old-fashioned recipes,” Dad said, talking for me.

  “Well, you can taste the differen
ce, I’d forgotten what real cake tastes like! All these places are too busy cutting out things and adding in other stuff so they can make them cheaper, but they don’t taste like they used to. Well done you for bucking the trend! This is such a gem of a place you have here, so many of those chain places are taking over this street. Did you see there’s a new Starbucks opening up around the corner?” she said shaking her head.

  “Really?” My heart sank. “I didn’t know that.”

  “They’re fitting it out at the moment. It’ll be open in a few weeks,” she continued.

  This was news to me. How was I ever meant to compete with that? It was hard enough getting customers in the door without this too!

  “It’s lovely to have somewhere homely to come to with Lottie when her parents are at work. I’m going to tell all my friends about this place,” she continued.

  “Thank you,” I said. It was lovely to get good feedback, but it just seemed so slow to catch on that I was really starting to question myself for opening a business at all. And now if Starbucks were coming too, maybe I should just lock the door and give up altogether!

  Later that evening after I had said goodbye to Dad, I went into the kitchen and started prepping for the next day. I looked in dismay at the trays of cakes and buns that I was going to be dropping off at the shelter on my way home. There were way more than usual owing to the bad weather. At least Father Joe would be happy, I thought.

  As I mixed up my batter and watched the golden butter swirl and melt in through the flour until it became a lovely buttercup yellow, I thought about what Clara had said to me about cutting my costs. But I couldn’t bring myself to do it. Maybe I was a fool, but when customers like the lady earlier commented on the taste of my cakes, it made me feel I was making a difference in their lives. Okay, I knew I was hardly saving the world but in my own small way I was putting a smile on my customers’ faces and that made me happy. I loved seeing people come in to relax for half an hour enjoying a little treat and some time to themselves, and I took pride that I could do that for them. I felt I was bringing a small bit of joy to people in their busy lives. A slice of cake could be like a hug on a bad day. I of all people knew that cake had healing powers. Cake had literally transformed my life, I had managed to make what was a hobby into a career, and a tower of fallen cupcakes had led me to Sam. I was fully convinced of the magic it could bring to someone’s life, and I wanted to be able to do that for other people.