by Alix Kelso
Keith surprised her with a laugh. “Is that a fact?”
“Well, of course it is. Once you reach your… well, once you’re into middle age, you’re supposed to have everything figured out. You’re supposed to know what you want and know what to do and how to think. But sometimes I feel just as confused and unsure about things as I did when I was in my twenties.”
“Me too.”
“You’re just saying that.”
“I’m not.” He sipped his coffee and turned towards her. “My father was in the pub business, that’s how I ended up in it too, and I remember being a wee boy and watching him getting on with his work behind the bar. I assumed he had all the answers because he was a grown up. Once I got to the age he’d been back then and realised I didn’t have the all answers, I began to wonder if he’d ever had them either.”
“Did you ask him?”
Keith laughed. “No, he wasn’t that kind of father. He was a good father, but not the kind of man who’d welcome a conversation like that. But these days, when I think about how clueless I still am about some stuff, I feel sure he must’ve felt the same way. But you just get on with things, don’t you?”
He gave her a look that struck her as almost a challenge.
“You think I should do this competition and stop over-thinking it?”
“Something like that. What’s the worst that could happen?”
“My cake comes last.”
“And if that happens, do they drag you up on to the podium and publicly humiliate you?”
Chrissie laughed. “No, they don’t do that.”
“There you go then.” Keith sipped some coffee and looked out at Shaw Street before once more turning towards her. “What got you into the cake business in the first place? I’ve been wondering.”
Chrissie shifted on the seat and thought about the answer to that question – the short answer and the long answer. For a fleeting moment, she realised that there was something about this man – this stranger – that made her want to share both those answers, even though the long answer was one she usually kept firmly locked inside.
She pushed the impulse away.
“I love making cakes, wedding cakes especially,” she said. “I love knowing I’m helping brides get things exactly as they want them on their big day. I think every bride should have the wedding day of her dreams, and if I can help by making a cake that’s exactly what she wants, then I feel happy.”
Keith watched her for a few seconds and smiled. “That’s a nice way to think. You should definitely be in that competition, Chrissie, and you’d deserve to win it, too. Be scared about doing it, that’s fine. But do it.”
“You make it sound simple.”
“It is simple. That’s why it’s scary.”
She laughed. “Is that why you’re out here on this bench with me? Because you know the simple thing you should be doing is talking with your ex, but you’re actually scared to do it?”
“Exactly,” he said with a smile. “I’m not preaching from a moral high ground here. We’re in the same boat, you and me.”
“So, are you going to talk to your ex and get things straight?”
He turned on the bench and looked straight at her. “Are you going to enter that cake competition?”
Chrissie narrowed her eyes. “Are we making a deal?”
“We are. I’ll lay it out straight with Janice if you take part in the cake competition.”
“My thing’s scarier.”
“You haven’t met Janice.”
Chrissie laughed. “It’s going to be manic, trying to get ready in time for the competition while still keeping my customers happy.”
“And I’m risking my emotional wellbeing, sitting down to have a heart-to-heart with the ex-wife who did the worst damage to me.”
Chrissie’s eyebrows shot up. “You’ve more than one ex-wife?”
“I’ve got three of them. When it comes to matrimony, I have a well-honed ability to pick the women who are guaranteed to ruin my life.”
“Goodness,” Chrissie said. “Three ex-wives. I can’t imagine it.”
“I wish I couldn’t, either.” He laughed and gave her a careful look, as if considering his next words. “What about you, do you have any, um, ex-husbands?”
Seeing how he frowned at himself over the blunt question brought a smile to her lips. “No ex-husbands, no.”
Keith nodded. “And just in case I’ve got the wrong end of the stick here, no current husband, either?”
She laughed. “No current husband, either. And no, you don’t have the wrong end of the stick, Keith.”
Chrissie held his gaze, her stomach doing little somersaults. She wondered what had got into her. It wasn’t like her to talk like this with a man, let alone one she hardly knew.
She realised that Keith was looking at her oddly.
“You’ve never been married?” he said.
“No, why?”
His eyes widened a little. “I find that hard to believe. You’re a… well, you’re a good looking woman, Chrissie. And you’re nice to be with.”
“Thank you, Keith.”
His eyes stayed on hers for a long beat and she liked how it felt to have him looking at her that way.
“Anyway, about this deal we were making,” Chrissie finally said. “Shall we do it?”
Keith glanced away and rubbed at his chin. “Let’s do it. If entering that cake competition is as scary for you as having a proper heart-to-heart with my ex is for me, then I think we’re both in for a rough few days.”
“You’re not saying it’ll take you days to explain things to your ex, surely?”
“Like I said, you don’t know Janice. She has a way of being wilfully deaf to anything she doesn’t want to hear. Probably all the more reason I should have this chat with her sooner rather than later.” He held out his hand. “So, do we have a deal?”
Smiling, Chrissie took his hand and shook it. “We have a deal.”
“Good luck with your cake competition, Chrissie.”
“Good luck with your ex-wife, Keith.”
He held her hand a moment longer than he really needed to before letting go. “Maybe we should meet here again tomorrow evening, just to check in and see what progress we’ve made.”
“Like an accountability buddy?”
“Aye, like one of those, whatever that is.”
Chrissie laughed. “How about seven o’clock?”
“Seven it is.”
Chrissie rose from the bench and picked up her empty coffee cup. They walked to the park gates and stood for a moment, contemplating their separate directions. For a tingling second, she caught a look in his eye that seemed so filled with intent that she wouldn’t have been surprised if he’d stepped closer and kissed her, and the promise of it, lingering between them in the soft evening air, was delicious.
“Goodnight, Chrissie from Chrissie’s Cakes.”
“Goodnight, Keith from The Crooked Thistle.”
She smiled all the way home, and was standing in her kitchen waiting for the kettle to boil when she realised the man had caused her to forget all about the bread and milk she was supposed to have bought.
12
It was Saturday lunchtime in The Crooked Thistle and Keith was behind the bar pulling pints. Jimmy Pearson and Big Kev were propped up on their usual barstools. While Jimmy flicked through the sports pages in the newspaper, Big Kev was studying the list Keith had just handed him, describing the buffet spread Marek had put together for his wedding reception.
“I don’t know about these vol-au-vents, Keith,” he said, squinting at the list. “I don’t like them. Don’t trust them.”
Keith turned from the lager taps. “What are you talking about?”
Big Kev shrugged. “They just seem a bit slippery to me, Keith. I don’t like how they sound. Vol-au-vents. Sounds like you’ve got something stuck in your throat.”
Keith waved a hand. “Fine, we’ll swap the vol-au-vents for somethin
g else.”
“How about sausage rolls? I like a sausage roll, and so does my Fiona.”
“Okay, sausage rolls it is.”
“I was eating a sausage roll when I realised that me and my Fiona were meant to be together,” Big Kev said, a wistful look crossing his face.
Keith finished serving a couple of lads and turned his attention back to Big Kev. “Is that right?” he said, amused.
Big Kev nodded. “It was our third time out together, and we were sitting on a bench on George Square eating a Gregg’s sausage roll. Fiona turned to me and said, ‘This is just perfect, isn’t it?’ And I realised that it was perfect, and so was she.”
Keith smiled, touched by this story.
“And then I choked on the flaky pastry,” Big Kev continued. “Fiona gave me a good slap on the back and let me have a drink of her juice to clear my throat. And that’s when I knew she was the one for me.”
Jimmy Pearson grunted out a laugh and raised an eyebrow, but Keith shot him a warning look.
“That’s nice, Kev.”
Big Kev grinned and drained his pint glass. “I’d better go. I’m off for another fitting for my wedding suit. And then I need to sort out shoes too, apparently. I don’t know why I can’t just wear these ones.”
Big Kev wiggled his feet and Keith glanced over the bar to look.
“You can’t wear tatty old trainers to your wedding.”
“I don’t know why not,” Big Kev grumbled. “Fiona’s wearing trainers. She says the wedding shoes she’s tried on are uncomfortable. Well, the wedding shoes I’ve tried on are uncomfortable, too.”
“Son, believe me,” Keith said, “you can’t wear those things. Fiona’s dress will hide her shoes, won’t it? But your big feet will be on full display and you can’t turn up with those on them.” Keith narrowed his eyes at Big Kev’s feet and then looked up. “What size are you?”
“Nine.”
“I still have my last pair of wedding shoes at the back of the cupboard, maybe those would do.”
“You’d loan me your shoes?”
“It’s a waste to pay money for dress shoes you’ll never wear again when I’ve got a pair lying unused. You might as well take them. I’ll look them out and you can pick them up next time you’re in.”
Big Kev’s face lit up and he pulled out his notebook and pen, then flicked through the pages and crossed something off. “You’re a legend, Keith. Right, I better make a move or I won’t get to the suit shop in time.”
When the pub door swung closed behind Big Kev, Jimmy looked up from his newspaper. “You’re being generous.”
Keith scowled. “So, what of it? At least one of us is helping the lad. What are you doing? Have you even got the wedding bunting and balloons sorted yet?”
“No, but—”
“Well, get off your lazy backside and get out there and do it instead of sitting here drinking all day. What’s the matter with you?”
Jimmy drained his pint and folded his newspaper. “How come he gets treated like royalty and I get shouted at?”
“Because you’re the one who’s annoying me, that’s why,” Keith said as Jimmy headed for the door. “And make sure you choose nice bunting! Don’t just pick the cheapest thing you can find!”
Jimmy waved a hand dismissively as he disappeared through the door. Keith chuckled and cleared the men’s glasses from the bar, and was about to serve a new customer when Janice appeared from the back corridor.
“Morning, Keith,” she said, her voice quiet. “Or maybe it’s afternoon.” She checked her watch and shrugged. “Sorry, I overslept.”
Gone were yesterday’s full make-up and hair and glamorous clothes. Today she wore jeans and a plain jumper, with her hair scraped back into a scruffy ponytail, and as far as Keith could tell she’d done nothing more than run some gloss over her lips. The expression on her face looked haunted.
Keith signalled to young Aiden to tend to the customers at the bar and then steered Janice back into the hallway. This was the first he’d seen of her since fleeing last night after she’d tried to get them to eat dinner together. Although he’d meant what he’d said when he’d promised Chrissie that he’d talk things through with Janice, she’d been in her bedroom when he’d returned and the bar was too busy for him to take more time away. He’d hoped to talk with Janice this morning before opening the pub, but her bedroom door had remained firmly closed.
But as Keith looked at Janice, he wasn’t sure he should have that heart-to-heart when she was so deflated. Yesterday, she’d been bubbly and bright. Today, the light seemed to have gone from her eyes again.
“Sorry I made you uncomfortable last night with the whole dinner thing,” Janice said as they stood by the bottom of the staircase.
“You don’t need to apologise. But I’ve been on my own for a long time now and I’ve got back into my own ways. I don’t need anyone cooking my meals.”
He half expected another tussle about the matter, but she only held up her hands in surrender. “I won’t do it again. I’m sorry.”
Keith glanced towards the bar and saw that Aiden and Sophie seemed to have everything under control as usual. “Listen, Janice, could we sit down and have a talk?”
She shuffled her feet and looked edgy. “Of course we can talk, but… the thing is, I need a favour.”
Keith raised his eyebrows. “Another one?”
She looked at him uncertainly before returning his smile. “I left a lot of things at Stuart’s house, things I need. Clothes, shoes, make-up, stuff like that. I phoned him and he says I can go over today to collect everything. And I was wondering if you could drive me there?”
Keith tried to digest this as Janice gazed at him with those big blue eyes. “Staying here’s one thing, but helping you clear out of your ex’s place—”
“I know I shouldn’t ask you, of all people, to help me do this,” she said, her voice desperate. “But I can’t afford a taxi over there and back again. And I need some moral support.”
Keith ran a hand through his hair. “You really should phone your sister to help with all this, I mean—”
“I can’t phone Susan!” Janice cried. “I can’t ask her to help, I just can’t. Please, I need you to do this one favour for me.”
He watched as her lips trembled and knew that this wasn’t an act. The hurt was etched all over her face and he hated seeing it there. But was he really going to help his ex-wife move out of her ex-boyfriend’s house? The deal he’d made last night with Chrissie rolled over in his mind. He was supposed to be laying things out straight with Janice, not getting even more deeply involved with her personal catastrophe.
“Please, Keith,” Janice said. “Please.”
Her voice was so small, it almost killed him.
Sighing, he lifted his jacket from the hook on the wall and picked up his car keys from the hallway table.
“Okay,” he said. “Let’s go and get this done.”
Stuart, Janice’s ex-boyfriend, lived to the north of the city in leafy Bearsden, in a huge detached house close to one of the town’s many golf courses. Keith pulled up outside and stared at the manicured front garden and long paved driveway before taking in the three-storey property. He’d always known that Janice had left him for someone with more money, but until now he hadn’t realised just how much more.
“This is some place,” he said.
“I know,” Janice replied, twisting her hands in her lap and looking longingly at the house. “I can’t believe I don’t live here anymore. One minute I had this place. The next, I’m stuck in your tiny spare bedroom.”
“You’re welcome.”
“Sorry.” She sighed and picked up her bag. “Are you sure I can’t convince you to come in and help me?”
“There are limits, Janice, and being here at all already puts me beyond mine.”
She nodded. “I’m just being a coward.” Although her bag was in her hands, she still made no move to get out of the car.
“The faster you get in there, the faster you get back out,” Keith said.
“You’re right, I know you’re right,” Janice said and opened the car door. “Wish me luck.”
“Good luck.” He watched as she walked unsteadily up the wide driveway and knocked on the door. When it opened, Keith caught a glimpse of Stuart beckoning her inside.
The man looked just as slick and sleazy as Keith remembered from five years ago, the last time he’d set eyes on him, except now it appeared he’d had hair implants. They looked ridiculous, even at this distance. Keith found his detestation for the man remained strong, even after all this time. Janice was no angel, but she’d always deserved better than this creep. She’d been so dazzled by his charm and his money, she’d failed to notice his superficiality until it was too late. The only mystery, as far as Keith was concerned, was that Stuart had stayed with Janice for as long as he had.
Not that Keith would say any of this to her. I-told-you-so was the last thing that his ex-wife needed to hear. He’d heard it enough times following his own romantic disasters over the years to know it was a completely stupid and pointless thing to say to someone who’d just had their heart ripped out of their chest.
At least he’d always had his own place to lick his wounds after his various wives and girlfriends had ditched him. Janice had looked so small and vulnerable walking up to that door. Keith wondered what that must feel like, knocking on the door of the house you’d so recently thought of as your own after being thrown out of it by someone you thought loved you. It had to hurt. It quite obviously did hurt. He wondered how Janice could’ve managed to find herself in such a mess.
But it wasn’t really much of a mystery. As he knew only too well, love could easily leave you addled and vulnerable. Being in love was a health hazard.
Frowning, Keith turned on the radio while he waited for Janice to reappear and wondered whether Chrissie was having any better luck today with her end of the deal. He could only imagine how she’d react when they met tonight beneath the cherry blossoms and he informed her that, instead of sitting down with Janice and setting her straight about not getting any silly ideas now the two of them were once more living under the same roof, he’d found himself helping the woman move her stuff out of her ex’s place. Surely that would give Chrissie a chuckle. Or maybe not. Maybe it wasn’t such a great look for a man to be wrapped around the finger of his ex-wife. Not if what that man was actually trying to do was impress another woman altogether.
