Cupcake Couture (15 page)

‘Yeah,’ I muttered as we parted, ‘and I hope you discover a sudden nut allergy half way through the pecan pie.’

‘So I say to him, but this is not offside and the Ref he say, I have a moaning woman already at home, I don’t need another one here on the pitch. Which, OK, is pretty funny but you know his decision changes the whole match. This goal was not offside. I know this. Did you see it, Chloe?’

Oh no he’s asked me a question
.

‘Hmm?’

‘Did you see match? Did you think goal offside?’

‘Ooh, um, offside…let me see…’

I dragged my eyes away from Zachary’s table for a moment.

‘What’s offside exactly?’

‘Quite simply he say I intercept the ball when I am in front of the last defender in their half, so I am nearer to the goal line than him but I don’t agree, you see I move so fast he think I am offside when in fact when the ball was played I… blah blah blah.’

I zoned out of Carlos’ offside rule speech and looked across the restaurant again at Zachary’s table that happened to be nestled behind one of the only big plants
in the room, which hid his dinner guest from view. I could make out a slim arm wearing black cashmere and a rather pointy knee under checked trousers but other than that, all I could determine about Zachary’s date was the way she made him smile and laugh and converse without the slightest hint of awkwardness and… fuck it… reach out and brush her cheek with his hand. I squirmed and then ducked behind the single flower in the centre of our table when Zachary looked up and caught me staring. A single pale green anthurium did little to hide my guilt. The fact that the pale pink centre of the leaf-shaped flower poked out at me like a miniature penis only added to my blushes.

‘I do not think you are listening to me, guapa, is there something wrong?’

Carlos whipped his head around to follow my gaze. Zachary glanced at him briefly, his mouth set in a thin line. He looked frostily at me before returning to the apparently hilarious dinner conversation.

The waiter arrived at that moment with dessert, breaking the icy connection forming like a frozen viaduct between our tables.

‘No, nothing’s wrong, Carlos, I’m just looking forward to dessert that’s all. I love desserts.’

He smiled as I leaned closer to him (while trying to peer around the plant blocking my view of Zachary’s date) and dipped my spoon into his rich chocolate fudge cake. Distractedly, I lifted the spoon past Carlos’ mouth where it hovered until he finally leaned forward to accept what could have been read as a flirtatious come-on. At that moment, I saw Zachary reach across the table and touch his date’s cheek again. I shoved the cake in my mouth, Carlos tipped towards the table and put his hand in my cheesecake. I chewed furiously. Cursing while wiping his hands, Carlos glanced across the restaurant.

‘Do you have a problem with this man, Chloe?’

I shoved another forkful of Carlos’ dessert into my mouth.

‘Problem? No I don’t have a problem with him. Why should I have a problem with him? I hardly even know him. I hadn’t really noticed he was there until you mentioned it.’

Carlos raised his eyebrows. He may have been a dyed blond footballer but he wasn’t completely stupid. Not
completely
.

‘I can have him taken care of, guapa, if he upset you.’

I threw my head back and laughed raucously to show Zachary how much fun I was having. Carlos flinched as I spat crumbs of chocolate cake past his cheeks but I was too busy checking Zachary was watching to care.

‘What are you going to do, Carlos, have him whacked?’ I sniggered. ‘I thought you were Spanish not Italian.’

‘No, chica, I mean I can ask the manager to make him leave. I am very much adored in this ristorante.’

‘Oh. Right. I think I preferred the whacked idea.’

I dug into his cake again and scooped up the final piece.

‘Gosh you ate that fast, Carlos,’ I said with a mouthful of chocolate sponge and cream.

‘Did I?’ he said sadly.

I ate my own dessert, burnt my tongue on my coffee, wolfed down all the chocolates on both our saucers and whistled at the waiter to bring the bill. By this time Carlos was texting on his i-Phone and I had shifted my chair around to try and get a better view of Zachary’s table. When the waiter returned, I fumbled in my bag for my credit card.

‘Don’t worry, I pay,’ said Carlos, proffering a platinum card.

‘Are you sure?’

He waved his hand, a chunky gold link bracelet jingling on his arm.

‘Yes of course. I am a man who never expects the lady to pay.’

I glanced at the bill and balked at the total, which would have paid for an allinclusive holiday to the Maldives.

Thank God he was a man who never expected the lady to pay.

I felt a sudden rush of guilt as Carlos smiled at the waiter and handed him a sizeable cash tip. Sure he was a bit too flash for my liking and his conversation was so dull even the flower was wilting, but he seemed like a genuinely nice, generous man who had just treated me to the most expensive meal I had ever had in my life. In return, I had behaved terribly. I may have looked like a lady (of sorts) after Roxy and Heidi’s efforts but I certainly had not acted like one. I pressed my lips together and, when the waiter sashayed away with a huge smile on his face, I placed my hand on Carlos’ arm and leaned closer to him.

‘I’m sorry, Carlos. I know I have been a little bit distracted but thank you for a wonderful evening, truly.’

His teeth almost blinded me as he smiled and leaned in to kiss me on the lips. I was so surprised, I did not have time to react. His lips pressed firmly against mine and I even felt his tongue try to wriggle its way into my mouth. I clamped my lips over my teeth, which stood firm like soldiers on the front line. Finally, his tongue retreated and I was able to come up for air.

I gasped and opened my eyes to see Carlos beaming as if I had just offered to give him a blow job on the way home (which in his mind I probably just had). I then saw Zachary staring at us as he passed our table and made his way to the exit. My
heart sank and then flipped peculiarly when I finally set eyes on Zachary’s date. She was in fact a he. He was very slim and immaculately but quirkily dressed with dark hair buzzed close to his scalp and skin like porcelain. With one hand, Zachary was gently touching his shoulder, with the other he was guiding his date’s wheelchair through the restaurant. I felt my jaw drop as they reached the black screen that divided the dining area from the doorway. Zachary stopped and chatted comfortably with the Maître D’ while he slipped on his own coat and then helped his date into his. He then bent down and spoke tenderly into the young man’s ear. I couldn’t help but stare; they were such a handsome couple and so relaxed, unlike Carlos who was jiggling his leg against mine trying to attract my attention.

Zachary and his date looked at each other, laughed and then both turned and looked at me. I felt my cheeks burn as Zachary gave a small nod before turning and helping his date out of the restaurant. He was gay. All that emotional palaver and he was gay after all. What a bloody waste.

Needless to say, I did not sleep with Carlos that evening. I had had enough of the male species for one night. Or one lifetime perhaps. He graciously drove me home in his Porsche that (thankfully) went from nought to sixty in four seconds, hence reducing the length of the pregnant pauses lingering between our soft leather bucket seats. I did repay him with a quick kiss in the car outside my flat. Not to sound easy, but I felt he deserved it. To be honest, I also wanted to double-check I didn’t actually fancy him, given that he was toned, rich and famous and the other object of my affections was dating a skinny, very handsome, homosexual paraplegic. Let’s face it, there was no way I could compete with him on any level.

I didn’t fancy Carlos. There was no fancying to be done when snogging a cross between Ronaldo and Ricky Martin in a car built for racing rather than comfort. Even poor Carlos, whose testosterone tank, I suspected, rarely dipped below full, could tell my heart wasn’t in it. I thanked him again for a lovely date and scurried inside my empty flat. A swanky date with a hot blooded Spaniard, a bottle of champagne that I would have needed a small mortgage to pay for and still I remained by choice unravaged and thoroughly depressed. Maybe Roxy was right, maybe I was frigid.

Damn Zachary bloody Doyle for ruining my evening with his ‘glamorous’ comments and his sheer bloody gorgeousness and his gayness. Granted his appreciation of fashion and fairy lights had been hints in that direction but he could at least have had the decency to be bloody obvious about it and choose the pink cupcake.

As Carlos’ purple Porsche raced down the street, the exhaust seemingly breathing a great sigh of relief, I closed the curtains, retrieved a Tupperware box of my latest batch of cupcakes from the fridge and took them to bed with me.

The first bite made me sigh, the second made me smile. I sank back into my duck down pillows and savoured the sweet taste of vanilla, buttercream and perfectly light sponge. Energetic, sweaty sex with a testosterone-fuelled footballer whose body was a temple or alone under the duvet munching cupcakes and satisfying my own body.

‘Who needs men when you’ve got cake?’ I said aloud.

Moving on from first cake foreplay, I dived into second cake satisfaction.

CHAPTER TWELVE

Whisk flour, sugar, baking powder, salt and butter until combined

Heidi lived in a two-storey flat in Whitley Bay above a Charity Shop dedicated to a charity for children with disabilities. According to postcodes and house prices, the location was not nearly as desirable as mine, but what Heidi’s home lacked in monetary value, it made up for in the sense of community apparent in the street. Heidi rarely entered or left her narrow front door that nestled between the Charity Shop window and a Veterinary surgery door without stopping to chat to shop keepers and their regular customers. They took in parcels and checked on her if she was ever sick and she helped them out in return. She babysat puppies, kittens and rabbits that had been abandoned at the Vet’s until they had new homes and she kept the Charity Shop’s shelves stocked with clothes, shoes and books she regularly collected from her home, her family and from Roxy and I. The first bag of designer swag Heidi brought in from our friend the WAG nearly gave poor old Bridget the manageress a minor stroke. She had been dressing like a seventy year-old Posh Spice ever since. I hoped she put a donation in the till for her new threads, but I guessed it was a perk of an otherwise unglamorous job.

Despite having a very demanding job through the week, Heidi even volunteered for frequent Saturday and Sunday shifts at the shop. Some of the kids, many of whom were amputees or paraplegics were her patients, so she had become very attached to the cause. She slotted the volunteer work in between visiting her parents who lived nearby, nurturing her friendships and checking on her many elderly neighbours up and down the street. She took them hot soups and cakes (some of
which I baked. Yay, go me!) and listened to stories about their lives, most of which she had already heard several times before. All this she did without complaint and without expecting gratitude. She was not a martyr, nor was she trying to prove that she was better than anyone else. Heidi was simply a good person who loved giving. Caring came naturally to her. She was selfless, which was I feared, a dying trait in the twenty-first century. To be honest, if she wasn’t my friend I might have thoroughly disliked her for putting me to shame. On the tragic day that Heidi shuffled off this mortal coil, if I happened to still be around, I would be writing to the Pope to have her canonised as Saint Heidi of Whitley Bay.

Heidi sat cross-legged on the floor of the Charity Shop with the chiffon of her new skirt spread around her. She had teamed it with thick black tights and a black jumper. From above, she looked as if she were wearing a black body stocking and sitting on a pale pink lily pad. A pink beret topped off the outfit. Somehow Heidi managed to pull it off. Heidi knew exactly who she was and had always been the quirky girl through school. She never tried to be anything other than herself. Unlike me, according to Zachary bloody Whatshisface.

Heidi was humming while delving through the second hand contents of a creased bin bag.

‘What price shall I put on this do you think, Chloe?’

I peered at the peculiar shaped object she waved in my direction.

‘What is it?’

‘I’m not sure. Is it a pepper mill?’

‘I don’t think so. It’s got fluff all over it.’

‘It could be a hair removal system,’ I suggested.

She screwed up her face and delved back into the bag.

‘Shouldn’t you be wearing gloves to do that?’

Heidi laughed and pulled out the packaging for the object.

‘Believe me, pet, I have to deal with a lot worse at work without wearing gloves. Hey, if you’re at a loose end, you could come in with me one day. Do work experience. You might like it. It could take you in a whole new direction.’

I climbed down from the stepladder resting against the bookshelves and wrinkled my nose.

‘You’re not really selling it to me, Heidi. Second hand clothes I can cope with but second hand bodily waste is a definite no-go for me.’

Heidi shrugged and rubbed the object against her chest.

‘What is it, a breast massager?’

‘No! It’s a jumper de-fluffer.’

‘Wow, I’d forgotten they ever existed. Did we really think we needed them once?’ I paused. ‘I wonder if my staff are saying the same thing about me.’

Heidi clambered to her feet, leaned against the counter beside me and rubbed my arm with the de-fluffer.

‘Of course they’re not, Chloe, no-one could ever forget you. You’re just feeling a bit low because you’re still in limbo.’

‘Any lower and I will be the world limbo dancing champion,’ I said with a weak smile.

‘Give it time, pet. You’ll work out what direction you want to go in.’

I leaned my head on her shoulder.

‘Thanks, Heidi. Well, at least I know I won’t be going down the WAG route. Not after last night’s date.’