The Sweetest Thing (28 page)

‘Mum, about going to Daddy’s?’ Sophie starts again.

‘I know.’ I run my wet Marigolds through my hair. ‘I’d forgotten. I’m sorry.’ I was supposed to be meeting David halfway. I check the time, hoping he hasn’t left yet. I call him, and – not surprisingly – he isn’t happy.

‘I’d feel the same in your situation,’ I say, ‘but this is an emergency.’

‘Jennie, you’re hopeless,’ he says. ‘It’s no good. I’m sticking to my guns. You’ll have to meet me halfway as we arranged.’

‘I can’t. I’ve got to bake and decorate one hundred cupcakes for a wedding by midday tomorrow.’

‘What is this – Jennie’s Cakes or last-minute dot com?’

‘I’ll explain another time. David, I have to get on.’

‘It isn’t me who lets the children down. It’s you. Adam has plans to meet Josh and Sophie wants to go shopping with Alice.’ David hesitates. ‘Jennie, you need to think about whether you’re getting your priorities right.’

‘David, I’m running a new business – it needs nurturing.’

‘And so do our kids.’

‘You don’t have to tell me that.’ I feel guilty enough already about changing the arrangements for their weekend away. ‘I’m asking you one small favour: to come here and get them tonight. I’ll drive up to yours on Sunday to pick them up. Please, David.’ I wait for his response. The timer’s buzzing. I need to get the latest batch of cakes out before they burn. ‘Either you come down and get them or we’ll have to make it another weekend. Let me know what you decide.’ Frustrated, I cut the call then turn to Sophie, aware that she’s staring at me.

‘Why do you and Daddy still argue when you’re divorced?’ she asks.

‘I don’t know, darling,’ I say, taking a tray of cupcakes out of the oven and testing the springiness of the sponge with the tip of my finger. They’re cooked.

‘What’s for tea, Mum?’ Adam interrupts.

‘Don’t say it –’ I hold up my hands ‘– you’re starving. Well, I tell you, we’ll all be starving if you don’t let me get on with this. And get those boots off. No boots in my kitchen. And no dogs either!’ I catch sight of Lucky sneaking his nose around Adam’s knees to see if it’s safe to return.

‘Lucky isn’t feeling very well,’ Adam says.

‘As he richly deserves, the ungrateful little so—’ I
correct myself quickly, noticing Sophie’s just about to pass comment. ‘Sausage. Adam, get that bloody dog out of my sight. In fact, tomorrow I’m going to ring what’s her name … Wendy … from Talyton Animal Rescue and send him back.’

‘If you do that, Mother,’ Adam says coldly, ‘I’ll go with him.’

‘Well, I’m sorry you feel like that.’

‘He’s my best friend. My only friend in this dump.’

I soften slightly, touched by the misery in Adam’s eyes.

‘We give Lucky dog food every day, and biscuits, and chews,’ I say gently. ‘We don’t let him go hungry.’

‘He couldn’t help himself, Mum. The larder door must have been open so he took a look inside. How could he resist?’

‘He couldn’t – obviously.’

‘I expect his old owners, the mean ones, didn’t feed him properly so he had to take what he could find.’

‘Cut the sob story, Adam.’

‘You aren’t going to send him away, are you?’

‘The way I feel at the moment, I just might. Adam, I’m up to my neck in baking. I haven’t got time to think about it.’ I notice a wet black nose appearing again between Adam’s ankles. ‘Just get him out of my sight.’

I regret speaking to him like that later. The cupcakes are out, cooling down ready for icing. Georgia and Sophie cooked beans on toast for their dinner. David, having consulted Alice, rang back and cancelled the weekend, and Adam went up to his room with the dog. I decide to take him a couple of cupcakes – yes, I’ve baked extra, having learned my lesson.

‘Adam?’ I knock on the door. ‘Can I come in?’

‘What’s the point?’ he says flatly.

‘I want to have a word.’

‘I think you’ve already done that – had words.’

I push the door open anyway. Adam’s lying on the bed in the dark with his curtains pulled back, so the lights on in the farmhouse are visible. As I approach I realise Lucky’s there too, panting and beating his tail against the duvet. Adam has his arm around Lucky’s neck and he’s stroking the dog’s belly, which looks taut and swollen.

‘I’ve brought you some food,’ I say, moving his iPod, styling wax and sweet papers out of the way so I can put the plate on the bedside cabinet.

‘I’m not hungry.’ His tone is sullen.

‘As you’re not going to Dad’s this weekend, you could do the milking in the morning,’ I suggest, thinking that might distract him and give him something to look forward to, instead of brooding.

Adam shakes his head, his mouth turned down at the corners.

‘If you’re afraid I’ll take Lucky back while you’re out, you shouldn’t be. I can see how much you love him …’ I pause. ‘He can have another chance, but if he steps out of line again then he will have to go. I’m sorry, but I can’t have him wrecking the business.’

‘The business, Jennie’s Cakes – that’s all you talk about.’

‘You know that isn’t true,’ I say, hurt.

‘You don’t care about
us
any more …’

‘But I do.’ I perch on the edge of the bed and reach for his shoulder. ‘Adam, I care about you more than anything else in the world. That’s why I’m so serious about the business. One day you’ll want to go to university or buy a house. I want to be able to help, to
give you the best start in life.’ I hesitate, my heart aching as I watch him gazing fixedly towards the ceiling, tense and tight-lipped. I wish I could get through to him.

‘I’m sorry about the visit to your dad’s,’ I begin again. ‘I know you’re disappointed not being able to see Josh, but I’ll make up for it. I’ll see if we can reorganise it for next weekend.’

‘Whatever.’ Adam shrugs, but I can sense his resistance melting away.

‘Hug?’ I ask tentatively. He answers with a sigh, turning away from the dog and putting his arms around my neck as I crane closer, inhaling his scent of deodorant and Clearasil that is soon overlaid by the pungency of Lucky’s doggie breath as he scrambles into the space between us.

‘Lucky wants a hug too,’ I say, smiling.

‘He’s jealous.’ Adam’s teeth glint in the dusky light and I relax. I should have been more careful the way I handled the ‘dog, cake and David’ situation. Adam might play at being an adult, but he’s still a boy – I press my lips to his forehead – my boy.

A little later, I send Georgia and Sophie to bed, then turn my attention to icing one hundred cupcakes. At number seventy-two, I find I’ve run out of icing sugar. It’s three in the morning and I know the Co-op won’t be open. I wait until four-thirty, then call Guy.

‘It’s your next-door neighbour, wondering if by any chance you have some icing sugar I could borrow? I haven’t disturbed you, have I?’

‘I’m having an early breakfast.’ I hear him moving about. ‘There’s a bag of icing sugar at the back of the cupboard, but it would have been my mother’s, so I can’t guarantee it’s useable.’ There’s a pause and a
rustling of paper. ‘No, it looks okay, and there’s no “use-by” date. What do you want it for at this time of the morning?’

‘It’s a long story, but Lucky snaffled Penny’s wedding cake and I’ve been up all night making an alternative. The wedding’s tomorrow – I mean, today.’ I swear under my breath.

‘I’ll drop the icing sugar in on my way down to get the ladies in for milking. Give me two minutes.’

‘Guy, you’ve saved my life,’ I tell him when he passes the bag through the kitchen window.

‘I saw your lights were on all night. I wasn’t stalking you, by the way, I was up with one of the cows.’ I can’t see his face clearly, but his voice is hoarse as if he’s upset.

‘I hope she’s okay,’ I say, then wish I hadn’t.

‘She died,’ Guy says curtly.

‘Oh, how awful. Which one was it?’

‘Old Kylie. I know it sounds stupid, but I loved that cow. She was my first Dairy Shorthorn. She’s been a real star …’

‘I’m so sorry.’ Before I moved here, I found it odd that anyone could get attached to an animal, but I’ve grown quite fond of the chickens, particularly the feisty ones. I can’t say the same about the dog. However, I can understand how Guy feels about losing his favourite cow when he’s cared for her and milked her twice a day for years. It must be quite a wrench. ‘Why don’t you come in and sit down for a minute? You look as if you’ve had a bit of a shock. I’ve got some brandy – unless you think it’s too early?’

‘Maybe I will.’ He hesitates. ‘But you’re busy, Jennie.’

‘I could do with a break,’ I say. ‘Come on in.’

Guy joins me in the kitchen and I pull two chairs up close to the Aga. I pour a slug of brandy into a mug and hand it to him.

‘Thanks, Jennie,’ he says, slumping on to a seat.

‘I’ll call Adam down to give you a hand with the milking,’ I say.

‘Is he here then?’ Guy says, surprised. ‘I thought he was off to London this weekend.’

‘He was. I was supposed to be meeting David halfway, but I knew I’d never get these cakes done if I took a couple of hours out. I feel really bad about it, but what could I do? The wedding’s today.’

‘Don’t disturb Adam.’ Guy drains the mug. ‘The knacker will be coming later. To pick up the body,’ he adds in explanation. ‘I think it would be a bit traumatic for him. I’ll find it hard enough, but Adam’s a sensitive young man.’

I stand up, take the mug from Guy’s hands and slip my arm around his shoulders. He leans his head against my apron and I give him a comforting squeeze.

‘Thanks for the sympathy – and the brandy,’ he murmurs before pulling away. ‘You’re pretty understanding.’ He stands up and a small smile crosses his lips as he adds, ‘For a townie.’

‘About tonight,’ I begin, ‘or should that be later today? I’m not sure. I’m sorry to let you down, but I can’t—’

‘Make dinner tonight,’ he finishes for me. ‘It’s all right. I kind of guessed …’

‘It isn’t because I don’t want to,’ I stammer. ‘Circumstances have rather overtaken me.’

‘I can see that.’ Guy smiles ruefully. ‘Another time then?’

‘Definitely.’ I hesitate. ‘Why don’t you have supper with us tonight? I know it won’t be quite the same, but …’

‘I’d like that,’ he says. ‘Thanks, Jennie.’

Guy’s intervention means that I can finish decorating the cupcakes and leave the icing to dry while I drive the twenty miles or so into Exeter to collect the stand. At twelve-thirty, only half an hour later than I’d planned, Adam, the girls and I are bringing the stand and boxes of cupcakes into the wedding venue, the Barnscote Hotel, not far from Talyton St George. It’s another longhouse, very much like Jennie’s Folly – I mean, Uphill House – on the outside, but in a better state of repair. Inside, the rooms have been knocked through to create an entrance hall which runs into a much larger function room with a galleried mezzanine floor. Above that, the roof space is open, revealing the oak trusses and beams.

However, I don’t have time to dwell on my surroundings. The proprietor of the hotel shows me the table where I’m to set up the wedding cake, and I give the stand one last wipe over and start setting out the cakes. I finish by placing the figurines of Penny, Declan and Sally on top of the cutting cake, making
sure they’re secure. Finally I take a step back.

‘What do you think, guys?’ I say to the children who are looking on, their expressions weary with boredom.

‘It’s pretty good,’ Adam says, which is high praise indeed, I think, from a fourteen-year-old boy.

‘I love it,’ says Georgia.

‘I’m going to have one like that when I get married,’ says Sophie, and I’m relieved that at least one of my children has escaped being scarred for life by the breakdown of my marriage.

Though I say it myself, I think the cupcakes look gorgeous: butter frosting dusted with glitter and topped with dusky-pink fondant hearts. I only hope that Penny feels the same. Not only do I want her to enjoy her big day, but my reputation – the reputation of Jennie’s Cakes – is at stake.

On the way back from the Barnscote Hotel, I drop in to the Co-op to pick up some more icing sugar. Much to the check-out woman’s consternation, I clear the shelf.

‘Can I ride Bracken when we get home?’ Georgia asks as she stands there, holding the bag while Adam packs.

‘Do you have to?’ I say. On the one hand, I’m euphoric because I’ve managed, I hope, to retrieve the situation regarding Penny’s wedding cake, but on the other, I feel light-headed through lack of sleep.

‘Mum, it will do you good to get outdoors in the fresh air,’ Georgia says.

‘Oh, all right, but not for very long,’ I say, caving in. It might help to make up for her missing out on her weekend with her dad, and anything for a quiet life.

Back at home, I change into my jeans and a long-sleeved top. I check my appearance in the mirror on the
way downstairs. I don’t know why. I look as if I’ve had a fright: no make-up, my hair frizzed up as if someone has attached me to the pony’s shrike, and shadows around my eyes dark enough to be bruises. Escaping from the wreck that is my reflection, I hasten downstairs to find my wellies and go outside to find that Georgia has already caught Bracken and tied her up in the yard.