Cupcake Couture (12 page)

I waited expectantly.

‘Gosh you’re smaller than I thought you were.’

Now that wasn’t what I was expecting
.

‘Sorry what I wanted to say was I think you’re a lovely height.’ He brushed back his hair. ‘Sorry, I feel a bit nervous.’

‘Don’t be,’ I said.

Just ask me out for Christ’s sake!
I screamed silently.

‘OK. I just wanted to say that in my opinion childhood dreams are not ridiculous. Sometimes they’re the very thing we should listen to. They come from the heart when the head is free of all the other gubbins we eventually fill it with as adults, like bills and responsibility and social pressure. They come from a simple place. Maybe getting back to that simple place when life was more sparkly and fun would make life a hell of a lot easier.’

I opened my mouth to speak but was not sure how to respond.

‘I just think,’ he carried on, ‘that you obviously have a talent and a passion for cake making so why not do it?’

I laughed.

‘That? That’s just a hobby. It’s not a job.’

‘Why not? It could be. Imagine going to work every day and doing your favourite hobby. Surely that’s what we all dream of? Isn’t that what they say? Do a job you love and never work a day in your life.’

I shifted from one foot to the other.

‘You know earlier I did actually think if only work could be as much fun.’

‘You see, I’m right.’

Zachary beamed, turned up his collar and wrapped his scarf around his neck.

‘I also know that life or fate or someone up there’ – he flicked his eyes towards the ceiling – ‘throws these curve balls at us from time to time for a reason to make us change direction, challenge ourselves. After all life would be very dull if it was a Roman road. Turning corners without knowing what lies up ahead is much more exciting, don’t you think?’

‘I’m not sure,’ I said. ‘I’ve always preferred knowing what direction I’m going in without thinking about corners and potholes and mountains to climb. Surely a path like that just takes longer to get us from A to B?’

‘What’s the rush? The sooner you get to B, the sooner your life’s over. The real achievement isn’t getting there faster; it’s enjoying the journey. I realised that after something bad happened and I’ve never looked back.’

I rubbed my forehead. I wondered whether I knew him well enough to ask what the ‘bad’ thing was. I decided not. My hangover headache appeared to be taking hold again. He pressed his fingers against his lips and inhaled.

‘Forgive me going on about it. It’s just when you started talking about your cake recipes and the couture cake fantasy, it was as if this light went on inside you.’

‘You’re very poetic,’ I said.

‘Blame Yeats,’ he grinned, ‘he convinced all men from the west of Ireland we could be poets.’

‘Well thank you, Yeats and thank you, Zachary. It’s a lovely idea but cake making isn’t my career. I’m a businesswoman.’

‘You could combine the two.’

I pressed my lips together in a smile.

‘You don’t give up do you?’

He shook his head.

‘It’s a family trait since my father passed away. We’ve all gone after life with all guns blazing my brothers and I, trying to find happiness and fulfilment. Nevertheless, I went full-throttle one direction and then fate threw a giant curve ball at me and off I went again in a completely different direction. At the time if I’m honest, I begrudged it a little but I had to do it and it turned out to be the best thing I ever did. When I get to heaven and look down at my map of life, it will be like spaghetti junction.’ He paused and focused his eyes on mine. ‘But in spaghetti junction I get to bump into talented cake makers like you.’

Zachary stepped towards me. His scent, a blend of oak perfumes, enveloped me and made my head spin. I was unable to blink and my mouth felt suddenly dry.

‘I er…’ was all I could manage.

Zachary blinked, breaking the hypnosis and reached into his blazer pocket. He pulled out a slim black leather wallet, opened it and slid out a silver embossed card. He held it out.

‘If you change your mind about the cakes, maybe I can help. We need cakes from time to time for events. In fact I’m doing an event at Christmas that could be fun, ease you into it as it were and we love something unique. It’s our company event so it’s up to me who does the cakes, I don’t have to convince a client.’ He shrugged. ‘Anyway, call me if you’re interested.’

I glanced at the card, feeling confused. What was this? A pure business proposition to help cater his work Christmas party or a round about way of getting a date by passing the buck and waiting for me to call him? The card hovered in the short space between our bodies.

‘And…’

Ooh, there’s an ‘And’. I was hoping for an ‘And’
.

‘Yes?’ I said with an encouraging smile, my hand reaching out for the card.

‘And, if you wanted to, you know, at some point, if you maybe wanted to…’

A sudden crash cut short Zachary’s sentence just as it was getting interesting. I gasped at the sound of footsteps behind my bedroom door. I clutched my chest and spun around in fear as the bedroom door was flung open and a man stumbled into the lounge. He gazed around and almost overbalanced. He was wearing jeans and a black shirt undone to reveal a waxed chest and a six-pack. A gold chain flashed against his tanned skin, matching the gold hoops just visible through a mop of unruly highlighted chin-length hair. He wore one leather shoe and carried the other shoe in one hand and a brown leather jacket in the other. His eyes were hidden behind black sunglasses. Sunglasses indoors? Had Bono come to stay?

I wanted to scream and my mouth was open but I was so shocked, no sound came out. The stranger stumbled over to us, looked at the huge white watch on his wrist that was big enough to land a helicopter on, clutched his head and groaned.

‘Guapa, I is late for the match,’ he said in heavily accented English, his face just inches from mine.

I recoiled at the stench of alcohol and cigarettes on his breath. His nostrils were lined with crusty white powder. I found myself leaning away from him as he almost fell on top of me, lifted his sunglasses and puckered his lips for a kiss.

All I saw was Zachary’s mouth drop open as Manuel or Juan or whoever the fuck he was wrapped his hand, still gripping a shoe, behind my neck, yanked my face towards his and proceeded to suck on my mouth like an anteater.

Help!
my eyes beseeched a stunned Zachary.

Kick him in the balls!
urged my brain.

Excuse me but doesn’t this kiss feel horribly familiar?
said the part of me that was too sensible to completely forget the drunken events of the previous evening.

I gasped as Roxy’s footballer friend, the new Spanish centre whatsit with the bum like a hamster chewing two golf balls released my lips, winked, slapped me on my bum and purred – ‘Gracias for a fantastic evening, Clare. We must do this again.’

With that, he spun on his single shoe, wiggled his sunglasses at Zachary and crashed out of the door, dragging my pride along the floor behind him.

It was fair to say, the moment was a tad more embarrassing than the cake maker/tutu revelation. I forced myself to look up at Zachary who was standing as still as a waxwork, still holding out his business card, his face stunned.

‘I didn’t, we didn’t…’ I began. ‘He’s just …’

A friend? My cleaner?

I momentarily lost the ability to speak.

Zachary cleared his throat and then cleared it again. I smiled like a manic cat.

‘You were saying…’ I said hopefully.

‘Hmm?’

‘You were about to ask me if I wanted to…?’

My mouth froze in an ‘o’ waiting for Zachary to fill the silence. He blinked twice, opened and closed his mouth then shook his head as if to rid his memory of the image. I squirmed, willing him to forget what just happened and return to the ‘moment’ we had been sharing before the untimely interruption. I reached out for the business card but he did not let go.

‘You were definitely about to ask me something,’ I said keenly.

‘Hmm? Was I? No, I don’t think I was.’

He pulled the business card towards him.

‘Oh you were, you definitely were.’

I tugged it back towards me.

‘It’s gone clear out of my mind,’ he said with another tug.

I gritted my teeth.

‘Try to remember.’

I yanked the card and almost fell over backwards as it slipped from his grasp. I shoved it into my pocket and looked up at him. His once sparkly eyes had visibly dulled.

‘I’m sorry to interrupt, I didn’t realise you had company.’

‘Neither did I,’ I muttered.

A slightly hysterical laugh escaped from my throat. Zachary remained steadfastly laugh-free.

‘I must be off, things to do,’ he said, his eyes focused on the floor.

He shoved his big hands deep in his pockets and turned to leave. My heart sank. Why had I chosen last night of all nights to be a slapper? It was so unlike me, but Zachary would never believe me no matter how much the lady doth protest.

‘More cake?’ I sighed as a last-ditch attempt to salvage the situation.

‘No thank you.’

He bobbed his head graciously and stepped over the threshold.

‘Good day to you, Clare.’

‘It’s Chloe.’

‘I know.’ Zachary fixed his green eyes on me and added – ‘I would have bothered to remember.’

I could not bear the shame as he turned and walked away. Quickly, I closed the door, rested back against it, slid to the floor and let the embarrassment wash over me in the hope I might drown.

CHAPTER TEN

Makes 12

Newcastle city centre was packed with shoppers either attempting to avoid the inevitable December stress by purchasing all their presents before the end of November or purchasing party wear for the rapidly approaching Christmas party season. There was already a sense of anticipation in the air, which was strengthened by the decorations twinkling in many shop windows and the Christmas song CDs playing on repeat. November still had a good week left to offer but retailers and consumers strained to look ahead to the approaching Christmas chaos.

I sat on the floor of the Top Shop changing rooms with my feet pressed up against the wall and my hands over my ears.

‘I swear if I hear
Driving Home For Christmas
one more time today I will start smashing things up. Where the fuck is he driving from, Australia?’

‘Howay man, Chloe, don’t be a humbug,’ Roxy laughed from inside her cubicle, ‘Christmas is lush.’

‘It is if you’ve got a job and, or a doting boyfriend with a weekly salary that is more than most people earn in a year for kicking a ball around a pitch.’

‘Aye I know, it’s champion,’ Roxy laughed. ‘You should get yourself one.’

She emerged from the changing room, pressed her boobs together and looked herself up and down in the mirror that covered an entire wall. Every female face in the room turned to look at her tiny figure and their faces turned a visible shade of green. If looks could kill, my stunning friend would have turned to ash on the spot. In the gold body con dress, she looked like an award ceremony trophy. I peered up at her as
Heidi bounced out of her cubicle wearing a floral jumper, knee-length pink chiffon skirt, lace leggings and an oversized red bow in her hair. In complete contrast to Roxy, she was what in a bygone era would have been described as ‘buxom’ and her choice of clothes were anything but sultry. However, Heidi’s individuality and complete indifference to the opinions of the bitchy girls in the changing rooms made her naturally sexy. Both of them were extremely attractive while being so different. It just went to show that it was in aspiring to be someone from a magazine rather than their true self was where some girls went wrong.

Roxy wrapped her fingers around her waist, blew a giant pink chewing gum bubble and tutted.

‘This feels tight. Does it look tight?’

‘It’s a body con dress, Roxy, it’s supposed to look tight.’

Heidi lowered her purple glasses onto her nose from her head and peered at the label on Roxy’s potential purchase.

‘It’s a size four, pet,’ she laughed lightly. ‘If it didn’t feel tight I’d be worried you had no internal organs.’

‘Aye but usually a four fits perfect and this just feels uncomfortable.’

I clasped my cheeks.

‘Dear God no. Imagine the humiliation if you had to purchase a’ – I silently mouthed the last words – ‘
size six
.’

Roxy stuck her fingers up at me, blew another bubble and waltzed back into the cubicle.

‘It’s mint anyway so I’m getting it,’ she shouted, adding - ‘I’ll just have to have more energetic sex!’

A lady leaving the adjacent cubicle covered her young daughter’s ears. Heidi mouthed – ‘Sorry.’

‘I’m sure Thierry won’t mind,’ I sniggered.

‘Aye or whoever else,’ she called back. ‘Did I tell you the manager said Thierry’s not allowed to have sex for two nights now before every match?’ Roxy stepped out of the cubicle wearing just an Agent Provocateur lace bra and a thigh-length pencil skirt. ‘I mean he’s a bleedin’ football player, man, he didn’t sign up for the fucking priesthood.’

Heidi and I laughed. A group of four blonde girls in their twenties span around at the words ‘football player’ like a pack of dogs hearing the word ‘biscuit’. The girls all had backcombed sexy hair, thick black lashes, spray tans and acrylic nails. They stood in a line admiring themselves as they tried on identical skin-tight (and in some cases inadvisably tight) Lycra mini-dresses in a spectrum of neon colours. Their heavily kohled eyes on spray-tanned faces narrowed in Roxy’s direction, resembling black permanent marker lines drawn on an orange. Roxy obliviously slipped back into the cubicle.

‘Like she’s going out with a football player,’ one girl hissed, ‘I doubt it like.’

‘Slag,’ said another.

‘Fat slag,’ added her friend.

‘Yeah, fat cow,’ said the fourth.

Ooh what sharp wit, I thought, like a hot knife, slicing to the very heart of my
size four
friend. I wished I had the same ability to incite jealousy wherever I went. I looked at Heidi who was still playing with the chiffon layers of her potential purchase and we laughed. Unfortunately, one of the girls saw me laughing and decided if she couldn’t compete with Roxy, she would fight her dumpier friend instead.