Christmas At The Cupcake Cafe (9 page)

Another Brit, Kelvin, had walked him round. Austin knew Kelvin a little from before, from various courses they’d taken together when the bank was still stubbornly trying to promote Austin and Austin was still stubbornly trying to resist it. Back when he thought working in the bank was some kind of temporary manoeuvre.

Austin was impressed to see that Kelvin had lost weight, smartened up and generally seemed different. He’d even adopted a strange
kind of transatlantic accent. Austin thought this made him sound a bit like Lulu, but didn’t want to mention it.

‘So you’re liking it here, then?’

Kelvin smiled broadly. ‘Well, the hours are a bit of a killer. But the lifestyle … amazing. The women, the bars, the parties … it’s like Christmas all year, man.’

Austin really didn’t want to say ‘man’ at the end of his sentences.

‘Okay. Um. Kelvin.’

Kelvin lowered his voice. ‘They’re short on men here, you know. As soon as they hear the accent and you lay it on a bit thick and pretend you know Prince William, they’re all over you.’

Austin frowned. ‘Kelvin, you were born in Hackney Marshes.’

‘Still London, isn’t it?’

They rounded the corner into the main trading floor. Austin looked around carefully.

‘Where the magic happens, bro.’

Austin only had one bro, who was almost as annoying as Kelvin.

‘Hmm,’ he said.

Kelvin winked broadly at one of the girls on the floor, who was tapping ferociously on her computer whilst on the telephone, but still managed to find the time to shake back her beautiful long black hair that looked like something out of a shampoo advert. The huge open-plan room was
a hive of frenzied, scurrying activity: men standing up and shouting into phones, a ticker running overhead on an LCD display, people dashing about with files and looking busy.

‘Yup, here’s where the magic happens.’

‘Hmm,’ said Austin again.

‘What’s the matter? You’re not impressed?’

‘Not really,’ said Austin, a bit glumly. This was only a finding-out visit, and it was already obvious to him that he wouldn’t fit in here in a hundred years, so he might as well say what he thought. ‘I can’t believe you’re still pulling all this bullshit like it’s 2007.’

He pointed at a flashily-dressed trader bellowing into a telephone. ‘Come on! We’ve tried all this shouting bollocks before and it didn’t work then. This is a total waste of time. I bet no one in here really understands what a derivative is or why it’s such a terrible idea, except three quants in a back office taking five minutes off playing World of Warcraft. Banks have spent years pulling the wool over their own eyes. It’s not sustainable, and we know it now. Why isn’t the money flowing properly? To help real businesses, real people grow and build and make things? Because that castle-in-the-air stuff fell right down. Still, nice suit, Kelvin.’

Austin turned round and got ready to go. That was when he saw the little man with the large bow tie who had been standing in the middle of the trading floor with an unlit cigar, watching them intensely.

‘You,’ he
said, stabbing a stubby finger at Austin. ‘You’re having lunch with me.’

And now here he was, sitting in front of six different types of bread that were being explained to him by a ludicrously handsome young man. Austin wondered vaguely where all those fat Americans you heard about were. Maybe Manhattan’s skinny buildings and tiny living spaces simply discouraged it.

‘Two olive, one rye, but not if it’s warm,’ ordered Merv, and settled himself down to look at Austin. His eyes were small and curious.

‘London tells us you’re a bit of a curveball. Young, on the up, incorruptible … might be ready to jump from clearing while you still can.’

‘Um,’ said Austin. ‘That was very nice of them.’

‘They also said you were the only person in the entire company whose loans had never lost money.’

Austin smiled at this. It was a nice compliment to get. He loaned on his gut instincts for people; how hard he thought they could work, how much they wanted it. When Issy had walked into his office nearly two years ago, Austin could see beyond the nerves and anxiety and the frankly total lack of preparation to the person beneath; she had more steel in her than you would think by looking at her. Well, an unusual upbringing could do that to you, as he knew only too well.

‘Do you
know how much my bond traders lost me last year? Those klutzes in the trading room?’

Austin shook his head politely.

‘About seventeen billion dollars.’

Austin wasn’t entirely sure whether this was, in context, a lot of money or not.

‘We have to get back to basics, Austin.’ Merv refilled their glasses with claret. ‘We need decent, honest brokers with no blotted copybooks. We need transparency. We need to do something before the public decide we should all be in jail, capisce?’

Austin nodded.

‘Guys like you … making smaller loans, more cautious investments. Not behaving like drunk fucking beavers at the wheel of a 747, you know what I’m saying? Not acting like coked-up weasels who exist simply to spunk cash down the panties of cocktail waitresses and buy themselves fucking indoor fucking trampolines.’

Austin was slightly lost, but he smiled gamely nonetheless.

‘Sustainable banking?’ he tried. This was a phrase that had gone down well at head office.

‘Yeah,’ said Merv. ‘Exactly. You married?’

‘No …’ Austin was confused by the curveball question.

‘Kids?’

‘Uh, I look after my brother.’

‘Why, what’s up with him?’

‘He’s
eleven.’

Merv nodded. ‘Oh yeah, one of my kids is eleven. From Mrs Ferani number two. Doesn’t know if he’s coming or going. Half of him wants to play
Star Wars
, half of him wants to race in the Indy 500 …’

‘Is that like Formula 1?’

‘… so I said to him, “Well, fine, you can have the damn car, but don’t drive it off the ranch.”’

The waiter came over and started to explain the enormously complicated list of daily specials, in such a friendly way that Austin wondered for a few moments if they’d been at school together, but Merv waved him away.

‘It’s Christmas, isn’t it? Bring us something with turkey. And cranberry sauce and the rest of that bullshit. And some more claret.’

Austin, his body clock slightly messed up, and having drunk some very good but rather rich claret at lunch, lurched out of the restaurant at 4 p.m. A black town car appeared silently out of seemingly nowhere to pick up Merv, who seemed to be suffering no ill effects at all and offered Austin a lift. He declined. The New York city air was absolutely freezing in his throat, but he wanted to clear his head a little and think things over.

‘Sure thing,’ Merv said. ‘But you’re one of my men now, OK?’

They shook
hands and Merv pulled him into a large bear hug. It was extremely unsettling.

Austin found himself just by the Plaza Hotel at the south-east end of Central Park. Long rows of horses and carriages lined up opposite, with jingling bells and icy breath. The horses wore blankets, and Austin went to take a picture of them on his phone before remembering that Darny would probably think this was infringing the rights of horses or something, so decided against it. Opposite the park was FAO Schwarz, the massive toy shop. Even Darny, Austin suspected, would have liked a peek in there. He headed on to Fifth Avenue, among the crowds of excited shoppers hopping in and out of Barneys and Saks and the other great department stores that lined the sidewalk. The lights and window displays were almost overwhelming, and snow was starting to fall. Wrapped up in warmth and the excitement of new people and new places … it was enervating.

A whole new world? Really?

He hadn’t told Issy because he didn’t want to worry her, but there was every chance the Stoke Newington branch wouldn’t make it through the next round of cuts. And to make the dizzying leap from local to global banking … it was almost unheard of. The bank had only ever been meant as a stopgap. He’d known he was capable of more, but life was so complicated, and providing stability for a terrified and confused four-year-old had been paramount at the time.

Now, though …
maybe it was time for him to reclaim some ambition for himself?

He thought of Issy. She’d often said how much she’d love to go to New York. She could come … she’d love it, wouldn’t she? Would she? He thought with a sinking heart of how happy she was in the Cupcake Café; how she’d worked so hard to build it into a lovely cosy place for people to come and sit for a while; how she’d got to know the locals and the regulars and how the café had taken its place in Stoke Newington like it had always been there. It gave him an ominous feeling.

But she could do it again! Maybe get her green card, start up something wonderful. Americans had invented the cupcake, surely? Two very tall women pushed past him to get into the Chanel store, talking loudly about their dates. Austin buried the thought that Issy wouldn’t feel at all at home here. That she possibly wasn’t tough enough and sharp enough for New York. He decided to buy her a present. Something lovely to show her how magical the city would be.

In his slightly fuddled state, he couldn’t believe it. The smell. He’d just been thinking about Issy, and suddenly, out of nowhere, he’d smelled her. He followed his nose off down a side street. And sure enough, right there on the corner was the most adorable, charming, perfect little cupcake café he’d ever seen in his life.

Outside, the little corner building was painted pink. It was completely covered top to toe in little white fairy lights, with
more lights strung inside visible through the windows. Mismatched dark-coloured sofas – greens and burgundies – were dotted around, covered in tartan rugs, and the walls and the floor were dark mahogany. The smell of coffee and baking cakes made Austin nearly tearful with homesickness. He pushed open the door, and it clanged just like Issy’s did.

‘Well, hello there,’ said a friendly voice from behind the counter. The back wall was entirely lined with red and green twisted candy canes. ‘What can I get you today?’