Fat Girls and Fairy Cakes (29 page)

“Thanks,” I smiled and looked into his eyes. He looked right back and for a few seconds standing together on the doorstep, the possibilities seemed endless.

“Stella, I was wondering,” he started “erm, I mean if…”

“Hi,” a voice suddenly butted in from nowhere and I was surprised to see Dave suddenly emerge from behind Tom.

 “Hi, I didn’t know you were coming over,” I said to Dave, embarrassed that these two were both on my front step at the same time.

“Well, I got your message and it sounded urgent,” he said.

“Er, Tom, this is...” I started.

“Dave Kennedy, isn’t it?” he said, glowering at Dave. “I remember you.”

“Hi Tim,” said Dave, with a grin. “Long time no see.”

Tom went pink with rage or embarrassment or both and with great reluctance shook Dave’s hand. “We’ll be off now,” he muttered, walking away. “Give mum a kiss, Grace,” he called and she bounded up the steps almost knocking Dave over. Tom nodded from the car and Grace leapt in waving manically at me as I blew kisses to her. I walked into the house, followed by Dave, suddenly feeling very lost and alone.

“That was tricky,” I said, putting the kettle on and feeling like I wanted to cry.

“Don’t feel guilty about
me
turning up,” Dave said, taking his jacket off. “It’s about time he had a taste of his own medicine. Now, what’s the matter?”

I opened my arms and walked towards Dave and falling into his chest told him all about Seb, letting out the gigantic, hysterical sobs that had been sitting inside my chest since yesterday. His arms were tight around me and I felt so safe, and in that moment I didn’t ever want to be alone again.

“Dave, I’m so glad you’re here. It’s been awful. I can’t get upset in front of Al or Grace and Lizzie’s just on autopilot.”

“I’m here for you, Stella.”

“What shall we do? I haven’t eaten, I could cook something? Or we could get a takeaway? I don’t want to go anywhere in case Al rings.” I rummaged in the kitchen drawers for ‘The Balti Spice’ takeaway menu.

 “Erm, that would be lovely. Er, we could do that...tomorrow night. It’s just that tonight I don’t have a lot of time.”

I looked up, slowly shutting the drawer. “Oh? I thought you’d come for the evening?”

“Well, I came to see you, I was concerned. It’s just that I have to leave at six. I’ve got an invite for a black-tie telly dinner.”

“Oh Dave, after what’s happened do you really have to go?”

“Afraid so. I’m really sorry. You know I hate all this networking stuff, I don’t want to – but I have to.”

“Of course you need to. I’m being selfish,” I said, coming over all Stepford-Wife.

“It’s important for my career, and for
our
future,” he said, kissing my face and making me feel better for a few seconds.

“I know, I understand. You must go.”

“I
could
stay with you if you really want me to,” he offered, now safe in the knowledge that I wouldn’t allow that.

 “It’s fine Dave. Honestly,” I said, thinking the opposite and willing him to stay. “I’m working at the restaurant after-hours tonight anyway. Call me later, I’ll have my phone with me.” He kissed me again and this time it was longer, with more promise.

“Are you really sure?” his voice was husky with desire and despite wanting to forget everything and just fall into his arms I had too much on my mind. I pushed him gently down the hall and out through the front door and said “You’ll be late – GO.” And he did.

I closed the front door and leaned on it. I didn’t really want to think about it, but I had to ask myself – if it was his friend whose life was hanging in the balance, could I leave him alone and upset to go to a career dinner? I knew the answer. In my heart I secretly hoped he would cancel everything and be there for me. I couldn’t resist peeping through the hall window to see if he was rushing back, having realised what was important. He wasn’t.

I didn’t have time to dwell. It was at least an hour since I’d last called the hospital and I needed to know how Seb was. I’d sent texts to Al’s phone because I knew he left ICU every now and then to collect them. This time I called and he answered straight away, I caught my breath. “How is he?”

“He’s still critical,” Al answered. “I just feel so helpless, Stel. It’s the waiting that’s so hard. I’m not actually doing anything to make him better, just sitting by the bed.”

“I’m sure he knows you’re there. He can probably hear you and that will pull him through,” I grimaced, spewing out what even I recognised as another ill-informed and pointless cliché. I put the phone down and wandered in to the kitchen to get something to eat. In a few hours, the restaurant would be clear and I could carry on with the
Strictly
Order – for what it was worth.

On Thursday morning I woke to find myself propped against a kitchen work-surface, my head resting on my arms. Lizzie and I had worked since eleven the night before and now the sun was throbbing through the restaurant kitchen window. I felt weighed down by a tiredness I’d never known. I slowly sat up and spotted Lizzie on the battered staff sofa, fast asleep, her phone clutched to her chest in case Al called.

The previous night Lizzie and I had beaten and whipped and whisked like our lives depended on it. The ovens were hot and we didn’t sit down once, constantly moving to try and work through the bulk of the order. If we didn’t reach the targets I’d set for us on that night then there was no hope of making the
Strictly
launch. By 6am, we both flopped, exhausted, promising ourselves we’d ‘just have forty winks.’

We’d worked our way through most of the stuff we needed to but I couldn’t create the dancing figures that Al had designed and would have made beautifully. I made several attempts but became frustrated with myself which wasn’t helped by Lizzie being sulky and quiet. I’d tried several times to start up a conversation (primarily to keep me awake) but she was monosyllabic and the harder I tried, the more strained the atmosphere became. By 3am, I lost it with her; “Lizzie we are both worried about Seb, but you being like this isn’t helping,” I announced into the silence, slapping a huge wedge of butter into a large bowl with feeling. “Surely at a time like this we should be able to share how we feel?”

She looked at me and nodded; “Sorry, I don’t mean to shut you out. But there are things I have to deal with on my own, too.” I was hurt that she wasn’t prepared to share her worries with me, but I put it down to a difficult day visiting Seb and trying to keep Al’s spirits up and we were both exhausted.

I went to the Ladies’, splashed some cold water on my face and quietly put the kettle on. I’d decided to make breakfast and a drink for Lizzie.

Just as I was making the coffee I had a text from Tom.

TXT: Hi Stel. How r u? Any news on Seb?

That was nice
I thought and texted him back as Lizzie rose from her slumber and staggered outside for her first fag of the day. I made the coffees and found some croissants which I popped in the oven to warm and when she returned we ate them in silence.

“Thanks Stel,” she said.

“I had a text from Tom,” I volunteered, hoping to engage her in conversation. “He asked about Seb.” Lizzie raised her eyebrows, clearly impressed at his concern. “I haven’t heard from Dave though,” I said, sadly. “He was supposed to call last night but obviously got caught up in ‘networking’.”

She sniffed with disapproval.

“This is all the wrong way round! Tom’s being supportive and Dave’s giving me nothing. I thought he was better than that, that I meant more to him.”

 She looked up from her croissant. “Don’t waste your time on that one, Stella. Something or someone else will always come first.”

“He’s just so driven, Lizzie, and he loves his work,” I said, defensively.

“Stella, I think he cares about you, but face it hon – he doesn’t love you
enough.”

I was surprised and a little taken aback by her brutal honesty. “Whoa Lizzie, tell me what you’re really thinking. Stop dressing everything up in flowery language,” I tried, hoping she’d laugh and say she didn’t know what she was talking about and that he was crazy about me.

“Sorry, but you deserve better than being second best. Or worse.”

I didn’t respond. I was hurt, even though a part of me had to admit she may have been right. I was also annoyed – she wouldn’t tell me a thing about Barry, yet she was happy to dispense advice about my love life. I finished my coffee in silence. I gathered the crockery and washed the cups and plates in the big metal sink. And it didn’t matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t stop thinking about what she’d said.

I turned the taps on full to drown Lizzie and the rest of the world out, but as I eventually turned them off, I was aware of voices across the kitchen. Al had arrived and was talking to Lizzie. I rushed to them, eager for news.

“Seb’s having an operation,” he said, almost in a whisper. “They need to relieve the swelling in his brain. It’s just more waiting and I’m so tired. Rosemary’s with him. She said for me to go home and change, get some sleep. It’ll be hours before we know anything.”

 “Then why are you here, Al?” Lizzie said, gently.

“I’ll drive you home.”

 “I did go home, but I couldn’t rest and anyway I wanted to bring these over. I found them in our study, on the printer,” he said, handing me pile of papers. I took the bundle from him and written across the top of the page was ‘The Cake Fairy’ in silvery, fairy writing.

“It’s the headed paper Seb designed – it’s beautiful,” I said, running my palm across the cool, silky paper surface.

“And look, he’s printed invoices out with our new address on.” said Al.

“The business cards are here too,” Lizzie said, flashing a card in pink and silver, beautifully written, the same tiny fairy on the logo.

I suddenly felt a rush of elation. “Invoices?” I said, “This is all the paperwork with the restaurant address on the top – this is the proof Sangita needs that we have approved premises.”

“That’s great doll,” Al said with little enthusiasm. “We can go ahead with the order and with the business now. I’m here now, so I can help.” I suddenly felt really selfish.

“No way Al. Lizzie and I can manage. It’s not important.” I said.

“Yes way. Let’s close the restaurant tonight, give the staff a night off and get that order finished. Before you say any more, Stella, it’s what Seb would want.” Lizzie and I both protested, but Al insisted he needed to concentrate on something, so we indulged him, called the staff, made a gallon of black coffee and set to work.

We fulfilled a large part of the order that afternoon, but the atmosphere was strained. Even with a Lady GaGa accompaniment our spirits were on the floor. I looked up from clouds of icing sugar to see that the three of us were working independently with no communication between us and no warmth. I kept checking on Al and when he looked like he was about to cry I’d glance over at Lizzie for support, but she looked tearful too. I always relied on Lizzie to know what to do and say; she was the sensible one who took charge but here she was completely lost in her own world. I walked over to where she was working, icing frills on chocolate cha-cha cakes and I gently put my arm around her. “Look, I know this isn’t easy for any of us, especially Al, but what is it, Lizzie? You’ve been edgy for ages. This isn’t like you.”

“I’m fine Stella. And please don’t tell me what I’m like,” she responded sharply, walking to the sink and slamming down her bowl of icing. Stung, I walked back to my worktop, looking over at Al to see if he’d witnessed what had just happened. His face was screwed up and he was holding the chunky, Ann Widdecombe figure in both hands like he wanted to strangle it.

“I just can’t get this right,” he said angrily almost to himself. I was wondering whether to lighten things and make a joke like I normally would but the look on his face told me ‘no’. I opened the oven to bake the final ‘foxtrots’ and pushed the cake tray in, suddenly feeling a scorching pain as my arm caught the inside of the oven. I leapt back, giving a yelp, which made Lizzie jump causing her piping bag to squirt bright pink icing all over her new, Diesel jeans.

“Ah my new jeans, fuck! Stella, you scared me,” she shouted and promptly burst into tears. I ran to the tap and shoved my burnt arm under some cold water. Then, with an almost animal howl, Al hurled Ann Widdecombe across the kitchen into the stainless-steel fridge. She smashed into a million tiny pieces, never to cha-cha again. Al slowly crumpled to the floor.

I looked at Lizzie who was sobbing and manically trying to wipe icing from denim. She stopped what she was doing and for a second, we both just stared at Al.

 “I can’t take any more!” he said, rocking backwards and forwards. Lizzie and I looked at each other in alarm and both rushed over to comfort him.

“Al, it’s OK,” I said, kneeling on the floor and wrapping my arms around him.

“Seb’s going to pull through,” Lizzie offered, wiping her eyes and kneeling down too.

“I feel like I’m on a tightrope between life and death,” sobbed Al. “Every time the phone rings it could be someone telling me he’s...he’s...well, you know,” he said, great sobs wracking through his body. “Rosemary’s devastated too. I’ve tried to keep strong for her but I can only hide so much. I thought being with my best friends would help but now even you two are falling out and crying. What’s happened to us?”