The Next Forever

by Alix Kelso

  “I know that.”

  “Sometimes it feels like no matter how hard we try, nothing goes right. This time last year, everything was going great for us. Now, it’s like one step forward, five steps back. I don’t mean for us to be in your way.”

  “You’re not in my way, Alison. You’re my daughter, for goodness sake.”

  “I know, but…”

  Chrissie could hear the weariness in her daughter’s voice and it almost broke her heart.

  “Look, it was a long day at work,” Alison said, setting down her tea and taking Poppy back into her arms. “I think I’ll get upstairs with Poppy, maybe have an early night.”

  “Good idea.”

  “But Mum, don’t pull out of this cake competition because of paperwork. Or because of me.”

  She turned and was gone before Chrissie could reply.

  10

  Keith was pulling pints behind the bar at The Crooked Thistle while keeping a close eye on Janice, who was chatting with some customers sitting at a table near the fruit machine. The woman made him nervous, very nervous, but he couldn’t deny she’d been a big help today. A contingent of old folks from the bowling club had descended mid-afternoon, driven from the sanctuary of their clubhouse on Holdsworth Street on account of a plumbing problem in the toilets, and without Janice there to offer an extra pair of hands, the bar staff would’ve been swamped.

  Still, he was nervous of her just the same. She’d popped out to the salon that morning to get her roots done, and when she’d returned to the pub she’d asked Keith if he liked her new style while performing a great deal of preening and posing as she showed it off. He’d managed to grunt out a non-committal response before escaping to the sanctuary of the cellar.

  Now, as he watched Janice floating around his pub, he found himself thinking about what he would’ve been doing on his whisky trip right now, had he actually been on it. He reckoned the VIP group were probably getting comfortable over dinner while making a dent in some single malts. Maybe there was even an open fire burning in the grate at the cosy hotel where they were staying, casting a rosy glow over everything.

  “I’ll take another pint, Keith, once you’ve come back to planet Earth,” Jimmy Pearson said from his barstool.

  Scowling, Keith pulled his gaze away from Janice and poured the pint.

  “How’s it going with your missus?” Jimmy said and chortled.

  “She’s not my bloody missus, and you know it.”

  Jimmy sipped his fresh pint with an annoyingly amused expression on his face while Keith got his change from the till. He could see the old barfly was gearing up to deliver a few more jibes, but Keith was saved by Big Kev walking through the doors and sliding on to an empty barstool with a sigh.

  “Organising a wedding is no game for the faint hearted,” he said, pulling his notepad and pen from his pocket. “This list just keeps getting longer. There are only twenty people coming to the wedding. How can there be so much work to do?”

  “It doesn’t matter how many guests are coming,” Keith said, pulling the young man’s usual pint, “the number of things you have to sort out remains the same. Believe me, I know. I’ve had a big wedding, I’ve had a small wedding and I’ve had a middle-sized wedding in between. It’s the iron law of matrimony. The work involved to organise a wedding expands to fill whatever time there is between getting engaged and walking down the aisle. Just be glad your big day isn’t far off.” He pushed the fresh pint across the counter and grinned. “At least your wedding cake’s all sorted, thanks to yours truly.” Reaching behind the till, he grabbed the order confirmation paperwork that Chrissie from the cake shop had given him and waved it in the air triumphantly. “Just check these details and if they look okay, I’ll give the cake shop a phone to confirm everything.”

  But an uncomfortable expression immediately clouded Big Kev’s features. “Aye, about that… Fiona’s changed her mind about the cake.”

  Keith’s grin disappeared. “What do you mean?”

  “She says she doesn’t want the icing on the cake to be pink anymore, she wants it to be white.” He glanced at his notepad and flicked a page. “Plain white icing with a pale-pink ribbon.”

  Jimmy Pearson laughed and shook his head. “Brides, eh? Their brains get addled with all the excitement of putting on a big white dress. They can’t be trusted.”

  “My Fiona can have any cake she wants,” Big Kev said, his eyebrows beetling. “But don’t worry, Keith, just give me that paperwork and I’ll phone right away.”

  Keith was about to hand over the order form, but at the last second found himself snatching it out of Big Kev’s reach.

  “No,” he said. “Um, you’ve got enough on your plate. I’ll sort out these changes and it’s one less thing for you to worry about.”

  Big Kev looked surprised. “It’ll only take me a minute to phone the shop and—”

  “It’s fine,” Keith said, folding the paperwork and sticking it in his pocket. “White icing with a pink ribbon.”

  “Pale-pink ribbon,” Big Kev said.

  “Pale-pink ribbon, got it. While you’re here, we’ll go through the buffet choices Marek’s put together for you.”

  But before Keith could say another word, Janice appeared on the other side of the bar.

  “Keith, I put a nice dinner in the oven for us and it’ll be ready now,” she said. “Let’s leave Sophie and Aiden to it and get a quick bite together upstairs.”

  “It’s Janice!” Big Kev said, turning on his bar stool and staring at her in obvious disbelief before looking at Jimmy Pearson.

  “Aye, it’s Janice alright,” Jimmy said, laughing. “Keith’s got his missus back.”

  “She’s not my bloody missus!” Keith exploded.

  “Stop teasing him,” Janice told Jimmy, but Keith suspected from the little twitch at her lips that she might be enjoying the moment. “Keith’s helping me in my hour of need and you shouldn’t be making fun of him about it, Jimmy Pearson.” She turned back to Keith. “Now, let’s get upstairs and have our dinner.”

  Jimmy began laughing again. Big Kev was still staring at Janice in amazement.

  “I don’t want any dinner,” Keith said. “I’m busy.”

  “But you have to eat, Keith,” Janice said. “I know what you’re like, snacking all day instead of eating a proper meal. It’s not good for you.”

  Jimmy Pearson’s shoulders were shaking now with laughter. Keith scowled and flicked his head towards the back corridor. “C’mere,” he hissed at Janice.

  Janice scurried behind him in her heeled boots and he pulled her towards the staircase out of earshot.

  “I said I’m not hungry!” he said.

  “But Keith—”

  “Janice, for God’s sake, when I said you could stay here for a couple of nights, that didn’t mean I wanted you to start running my life!”

  “I’m not trying to run your life, Keith. I only made you a bit of dinner.”

  “But I don’t want you to make a bit of dinner, Janice!”

  She folded her arms and arched an eyebrow. “There’s no need to take that tone with me, Keith McGraw. I’m only trying to thank you for helping me.”

  Keith sighed. “Just leave me to make my own dinner in future, okay?”

  “Fine,” Janice said. “But as I’ve made some for you anyway, why not come up and eat with me?”

  She reached out and laid a hand on his arm and squeezed. Her fingernails were painted dark red and flashed dangerously in the dim light of the hallway as she smiled up at him from beneath improbably long lashes.

  “I need to go out for a minute,” Keith said, grabbing his jacket from the hook and heading for the back door. “I’ve an errand to run.”

  “I’ll put your dinner in the oven,” Janice called out. “We’ll eat together when you get back!”

  The door swung closed behind him, and for the second night in a row Keith found himself exiled from his own pub.

  11

 
Chrissie gathered up the piles of paperwork from the kitchen table, done with her accounts work for tonight at least, and let her mind wander to the image of a wedding cake that had been taking shape inside her head for the last half hour. She’d tried not to think about it. But no matter what she did, the image kept coming back.

  The cake she was thinking of was lovely and beautiful and romantic. There were four layers, each one a different depth so as to draw the eye. Not that it would be easy to look away on account of the style in which this cake was decorated. Instead of smooth royal icing, it was covered in gloriously rich set buttercream which had been shaped into swirling contours. The buttercream was in two tones – ivory along with hints of baked French meringue – and the combined colours were achingly elegant. The cake was finished with a dusting of palest pink orchid sugar flowers, the petals so delicate they were almost like organza.

  It was a beautiful wedding cake like nothing Chrissie had ever attempted before. It was creative and a little unusual and demanded the most exacting of technical skills.

  It was exactly the kind of cake she imagined herself one day making for the Wedding Cake Showcase.

  Tearing a fresh piece of paper from a notepad on the kitchen table, Chrissie grabbed a pencil and began sketching. She was no artist, but over the years she’d developed the basic pencil skills required to pin down the essential details of her cake designs. Now, as she let the pencil follow the curves of the contoured buttercream icing that she had in mind, she felt a flutter of excitement in her stomach at the idea of actually making this cake for real.

  It wasn’t the kind of cake she was ever asked by her customers to produce. It was just a little too unusual, and Chrissie generally recommended royal icing for her brides, because it was far less likely to suffer during transportation or in the typically hot commercial kitchens inside wedding reception venues. But to make something like this for a wedding cake competition – now, that was an altogether different prospect, and one that she couldn’t stop thinking about. It was an alluring idea – or it would be, if she was actually going to take part in the competition.

  As if on cue, Chrissie’s phone pinged, and when she checked the screen, she saw it was a message from her mother.

  Have you made a decision about the wedding cake competition?

  Thinking about it, Chrissie typed back.

  Think faster! came Irene’s immediate reply. And then a follow up: I know you want to do it. You know you want to do it. So do it! Easy!

  Yes, Mother, easy as pie, Chrissie thought as she tossed the phone down and rose to make another cup of tea. With Alison and Poppy already upstairs for the night, and Gregor out working, she realised she’d have the living room to herself. She decided to add a slice of toast to enjoy with her tea and settle down in front of the television.

  But when she opened the bread bin, she found it empty. That was just typical – she rarely ate toast at night, but now that she actually wanted some, there was no bread.

  Chrissie walked to the coat stand in the hallway and pulled on her jacket. She might as well go to the minimarket and buy a new loaf tonight, because it would be needed for tomorrow’s breakfast. And they were low on milk, as usual.

  She closed the front door and turned towards Shaw Street. As she walked, she wondered if she maybe should take part in the wedding cake competition. Would taking part turn out to be a good idea or a bad idea? Would she love it or regret it? And was that gorgeous cake she had in mind too wonderful to resist having a go?

  These thoughts danced through her head as she rounded the corner on to Shaw Street and crashed straight into someone coming in the other direction.

  “Oops, sorry!” Chrissie said as she reeled back, startled from the impact. “Oh, it’s you! Keith from The Crooked Thistle.”

  “Chrissie from Chrissie’s Cakes,” Keith replied with a winded wheeze as he rubbed at his shoulder where they’d collided together. “You took that corner like Lewis-bloody-Hamilton.”

  Chrissie laughed. “Sorry, I wasn’t looking where I was going. Are you okay?”

  He waved a hand. “I’m fine. You surprised me, more than anything else. Thought I was about to get mugged by some wee hoodlum.”

  She laughed again and clapped a hand over her mouth. “Sorry, I’m not laughing at you, honestly.”

  “And if I had a pound for every woman who’s ever said that to me,” Keith grinned.

  Laughing even harder now, Chrissie shook her head. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

  “I’m sure. So, what brings you out tonight?”

  She gestured towards the minimarket further down the street. “We’ve no bread and almost no milk, and I’m the only person in the house who seems to have noticed. What about you?”

  “My ex-wife made me dinner so I fled the scene in terror.”

  “Ah, how perfectly evil of her to cook a nourishing meal for you.”

  Now it was Keith who laughed. “You don’t know my ex-wife. It might start with dinner, but it won’t end there.”

  “Someone certainly has a high opinion of their own irresistibility.”

  The comment popped out before she could stop it and she stood frozen and appalled. Keith was staring, surprise etched on to his face, and no wonder. She was about to apologise – yet again – when he spread his hands and looked himself over.

  “And who wouldn’t want a piece of this?” he said, grinning. “Got my own teeth, got my own hair, and I can haul a beer barrel faster than a man half my age. I’m a bloody catch.”

  Laughing, she looked him over in mock-judgement, and realised he was actually kind of good looking, which she hadn’t really noticed before. He wore good, well-chosen clothes and a smart jacket and shoes that had been carefully shined. He had a nice smile and great eyes that twinkled with humour. Even the way his hair was sticking up in mad grey tufts was somehow strangely attractive.

  Chrissie cleared her throat. “You’re right, you’re not so bad looking. But what I meant was that maybe your ex-wife only cooked you dinner because she’s grateful you took her in. Didn’t you say she’d only just been ditched by someone? She’s hardly likely to want to haul you into bed so soon after something like that.”

  She watched as Keith shrugged and the humour left his eyes. “Maybe you’re right. But I honestly don’t know what’s going on. One minute she’s a sobbing wreck on my doorstep begging for help, the next she’s dolled up to the nines and squeezing my arm and giving me the sultry eye look.”

  “What’s the sultry eye look?”

  “Ach, all you women know what the sultry eye look is.”

  “If you say so.”

  Chrissie smiled. She realised she was enjoying this, although she couldn’t say exactly why. They stood for a few seconds, just smiling. Finally, she pointed in the direction of the minimarket.

  “Anyway, I better go and get my shopping. Good luck with your ex.”

  “And good luck with your… bread and milk.”

  Hiding another smile, Chrissie began walking, but only managed a few steps before Keith called out again.

  “Chrissie, since we’re both here,” he said and walked towards her, “that wedding cake order I put in. Can we change the pink icing to white?”

  “Sure, that’s no problem.”

  “Good. Oh, and they want a pale-pink ribbon around the cake.”

  “That’s fine.”

  “Right, good.”

  He stood staring for a moment. Chrissie could see he was debating whether he should say something more. It amused her to see him putting so much effort in and it struck her as oddly sweet.

  “Chrissie, would you like to have a coffee with me?” Keith finally said.

  She nodded and smiled. “Sure.”

  His grin widened. “Great! When suits you?”

  “How about right now?”

  “Now?”

  “Why not? It’s another nice evening and I’m enjoying this fresh air. We could sit on the bench in the park again, it’s still
light enough. Unless you need to get back to your pub.”

  “No, the pub’s fine, let’s do it now. We’ll buy our coffees from the ice cream shop on the way there.”

  Coffees in hand, they walked through the gates of Couper Park. There were no buskers out tonight in the octagonal shelter, but that was okay. As Chrissie sat down, she could hear the sweet evening song of a blackbird up in the cherry tree and the sound was peaceful and lovely, floating on the cool air. The pink flowers of the blossoms were even deeper in colour tonight after another day of spring sunshine and they hung from the branches like great clouds of candyfloss.

  Chrissie stirred sugar into her cup and watched the traffic moving out on Shaw Street. “This is nice,” she said.

  “It is.”

  “Sometimes you just need a minute.”

  “Sometimes you do.” Keith sipped his coffee and nodded with approval. “So, have you thought any more about this cake competition business you told me about?”

  Chrissie gave a half-smile. “It’s been on my mind. I’ve even been thinking about a cake design, but…”

  “But?” Keith said when she stopped talking. “What’s still holding you back?”

  Chrissie shrugged and drank some coffee, licking the froth from her lips. “I don’t think there’s enough time to get the cake right before the competition. I’m a planner, I like to have time to plan ahead before I do something. But…” She glanced his way. “I hardly know you, I shouldn’t be telling you this stuff.”

  Keith nodded. “That’s fine, don’t tell me. We’ll just sit here and enjoy our coffee.”

  And for a minute, that’s what they did. But for some reason Chrissie couldn’t quite understand, she found that she wanted to explain what was on her mind. Or, at least, she wanted to explain it to him.

  “The truth is,” she said eventually, “I’m a bit worried about putting myself out there. Other people would be judging my cake, scrutinising it and finding fault. It’s a bit scary. That’s silly, isn’t it? When you get to our age, you’re not supposed to be scared of anything anymore.”