Cupcake Couture (16 page)

‘Thank God for that. One WAG in the family is more than enough. Anyway, I don’t really see you as the dolly bird, rich boyfriend type.’

‘Shame. It sounds easier than standing on my own two feet. If I can’t pay the mortgage in a few months time, then I don’t have anyone to fall back on.’

‘But you like it like that, Chloe. You’re an independent woman.’

I sighed.

‘Damn those bloody feminists.’

Heidi laughed and then peered through her glasses at the pile of books on the counter.

‘Any good reads in there? I could do with one to keep me company in bed at night.’

‘Me too, books are kinder on the hips than cakes.’ I flicked through the pile. ‘Two Ian Rankins, a Harry Potter, one Reader’s Digest, a Marian Keyes…’

‘Ooh I’ll buy that, she’s mint.’

‘…A Tess of the D’Urbervilles and oh my goodness, this one might work to warm you up in bed.’

I showed the cover to Heidi who covered her mouth. Heaving myself onto the counter, I crossed my legs and opened the book.

‘The Joy of Sex,’ I read aloud as if I were on
Jackanory
, ‘hmm, chance would be a fine thing. The Flanquette, well that one looks manageable.’

Heidi giggled as we both peered at the illustrations.

‘The Viennese Oyster,’ she read, ‘ouch I think my legs would snap off if I tried to bend them up there, like.’

I fanned my face.

‘You better not let Bridget see this, she’ll get so hot and bothered she might ignite that rack of shellsuits.’

We turned the pages and sniggered like schoolgirls. It was funny how peculiar sex looked on the page, when in the heat of the moment things could feel so natural. I crossed my legs tighter.

‘Ee man,’ Heidi squealed, ‘what is he doing?’

‘I’m not sure but from the look on her face I’d say it’s working.’

Heidi’s giggles put me in mind of a day at school twenty-odd years previously when Roxy had introduced us to
More
Magazine’s position of the month in the school library while we were supposed to be completing a project on red squirrels. Heidi had tried so hard to control her giggles after our umpteenth scolding from the librarian that she had snorted Ribena out of her nostrils and had been sent to the nurse with a suspected brain haemorrhage.

‘Have you ever done that one, Chloe?’

I turned the page upside down and frowned.

‘No, it would have to be a very strong man to lift me up there.’

I bet Zachary could do it
, said my brain.

What? Where did that thought come from?

I cleared my throat and crossed my legs even tighter.

‘My mam and dad had the original version of this book. They’d leave it by their bed so I knew they were actually using it as a sex manual.’ Heidi screwed up her nose. ‘Perish the thought like but I guess it works. They’ve been together for forty-two years and they still act like teenagers at times, kissing and cuddling on the sofa. They even write little notes to each other and leave them in places like the fridge and the bread-bin.’ She paused. ‘Sad really.’

‘Pathetic,’ I nodded.

We stared wistfully into space.

‘Wish I had that,’ Heidi sighed.

‘Me too.’

Confident that neither of us would be needing a sex manual to cement a deep relationship in the foreseeable future, I priced it and placed it on a high shelf well out of Bridget’s eye-line, while Heidi tripped across the road to buy comfort food in the form of flaky sausage rolls.

‘Do you think my parents have ruined my chances of finding love, Chloe?’

Heidi handed me a chipped mug of tea. I brushed pastry crumbs from my lips and frowned.

‘Why would you think that when your parents are the best advert for a happy marriage out of all the couples I know?’

‘Aye exactly my point. They’re just so perfect that I’ve set my heart on having the same thing in my life, but let’s be honest, that sort of relationship doesn’t come along very often these days.’ She sipped her tea. ‘Or ever in my case.’

I chewed thoughtfully.

‘I hadn’t really thought of it like that. I’ve always just thought you were lucky to have parents like yours rather than my arty farty, free love, swinger parents or Roxy’s alcoholic single mother. I guess I hadn’t considered how difficult it would be to follow their example.’

Heidi sighed and blew on the steaming sausage meat.

‘You don’t think I’m going to find what I’m looking for, do you, Chloe?’

‘Depends. What exactly are you looking for?’

Heidi took a bite of pastry and chewed while looking at the ceiling.

‘I don’t know really.’

‘Say anything that comes to mind.’

‘OK, well, I suppose I’d like him to be nice and kind and thoughtful.’

‘That’s do-able.’

‘And I’d like him to have dark hair, really dark, preferably short.’

‘Again, not impossible. A green Mohican would be harder to track down I’m guessing.’

‘I want him to be slim and long-limbed and fashionable.’

‘Right, OK, that’s a clearer picture…’

‘Aye in fact I’d like him to be really into fashion but in an adventurous way, not in a buy the whole outfit off the mannequin in River Island way. I’d like him to wear prints like flowers and checks together and lovely shoes in funky colours. And if he wants to carry a man bag then more power to him.’

‘Er, good…’

‘And he’d have to like food and wine so that we could cook lush meals together because I like a man who can cook. But even if he can’t, he’d have a great appetite for things like steak and chips and puddings, especially custard slices and cheesecake and he wouldn’t mind my love handles, because they are here to stay. You know what I mean?’

I nodded and opened my mouth but closed it again as she carried on.

‘And he has to like animals, like cats and dogs but preferably dogs and children of course because I want four of them. And I’d like him to have hobbies, creative ones and also reading because I love reading. But he must be ambitious, not just in a make lots of money way, more in a make the most of every day of life way.
I’d like him to be called something beginning with F or at least E and to be taller than me but not too tall.’

I opened my mouth again. And closed it.

‘And he has to love his family and my family. I know it’s difficult to love someone else’s family but they mean too much to me to have any conflict. Ooh and my friends because if he doesn’t like my friends then that’s like saying he doesn’t respect my opinion so that would never work. And if he doesn’t mind watching
Pretty Woman
while I recite the lines, well then that’s just a bonus.’

I tried to stop my eyebrows jumping off the top of my head. Heidi grinned and clicked her tongue. I paused to make sure she was actually finished.

‘W… well,’ I breathed, ‘quite a bit sprang to mind there didn’t it? You have thought that through. Quite a lot.’

She grimaced.

‘Oh, you don’t think I’m going to find him do you? You think I’m going to be a chubby old spinster don’t you?’

I saw tears in her eyes and rushed to rescue the moment.

‘No, no, of course not, I didn’t say that. Any man will be lucky to have you, Heidi. I’ll be honest, you have got high, very
precise
standards but that can be a good thing. At least you’re not going to drop your knickers for any plonker who walks through that door.’

We both glanced at the door, which remained resolutely closed. I decided now would be a good time to change the subject.

‘Why does Bridget bother opening on a Sunday, Heidi? We’ve only had one customer and she bought a dressing gown for fifty pence. It’s not exactly a roaring trade.’

Heidi checked her Minnie Mouse watch and nodded.

‘Aye you’re right, it’s like a graveyard in here. Probably because it’s so cold out there. I think it could snow tonight.’ She finished her sausage roll. ‘But every fifty pence counts for the charity, especially in the current financial climate. Bridget hinted yesterday that things aren’t going too well, but she wouldn’t go into detail. To be honest she had her head in a bag of Roxy’s shoes so I couldn’t really hear her too well. God knows why because they’re two sizes too small, but the old minx squeezes her bunions into those designer stilettos so tight it makes her ankles swell up. Anyway, she said something about getting in the paper to publicise it. But you know, Chloe, I get a feeling the kiddies won’t be given presents this Christmas because there’s no spare money in the pot. Isn’t that terrible? Loads of them are from families who can’t afford luxuries like Christmas and birthday presents let alone things like jazzy wheelchairs and beds. Imagine the poor bairns sitting waiting for Santa to come and he doesn’t. As if their lives aren’t tough enough.’

My own problems faded into insignificance. Heidi was like my conscience. One mention of crippled children not getting presents and she won the best reason to be miserable competition.

I grabbed a second pile of books to price up.

‘No you’re right, Heidi, every penny counts.’

Heidi shook her head and brushed pastry crumbs from her black jumper.

‘No, pet, I think you’re right today. There’s no point wasting money on the electricity if no-one’s coming in to appreciate it. Let’s lock up and head to Tynemouth flea market.’

I had to admit, I felt relieved. I didn’t mind helping out when I had nothing better to do… and let’s face it, I really had nothing better to do. The cause was heart
wrenching, but in all honesty the smell of the Charity Shop still worked its way up my nostrils and all the way down to my stomach, leaving me feeling queasy for some hours afterwards. Heidi was immune to the mustiness in the air that lingered over ‘dead peoples’ shit’ as Roxy fondly called it. Considering she came from one of Newcastle’s roughest areas and had worn Charity Shop clothes until she was old enough to discover shoplifting, she could be such a snob.

We locked up and then squeezed into Heidi’s blue and white Citroën Dolly, which chugged merrily along the seafront the five miles to Tynemouth. I always imagined Heidi’s car singing to itself as it drove. It suited her completely. We passed Longsands beach, a flat expanse of sand (as its name suggested), which was always packed with dog walkers and families on Sundays even in winter. I peered out of the car window at the energetic locals wrapped up against a sharp wind blowing with increasing enthusiasm from the Northeast, bringing Norway’s icy weather to Newcastle’s door. A group of hardy surfers clad head to toe in neoprene bobbed in the angry looking water like merry seals. The thought of the wind chill on wet skin made my spine shiver. There were still two hours until the November sun would set at the depressingly early time of four o’clock. Personally I thought the sun’s insistence to work short hours in the winter months spared little thought for us singletons. It was easy to occupy the seven or so hours of darkness in July with eating and television and sleeping but trying to fill a very inconsiderate sixteen dark hours out of twenty-four without feeling pangs of loneliness was nigh-on impossible, especially without the distraction of work. Today, a prolonged darkness hung steadfastly in the air blurring the distinction between the sky and the sea.

‘I think you’re right, Heidi,’ I shivered, ‘it feels like we’re in for snow.’

Heidi swung the pink fluffy dice that dangled from her rear-view mirror and started singing
White Christmas
at the top of her voice.

‘Don’t remind me,’ I growled, ‘Christmas is looming like the worst sort of deadline. I’m usually happy to be single because I’ve got such lovely friends, but now I’ve been made redundant too, I can’t face the whole bloody merriness of it all. In fact, I think I might just boycott Christmas this year.’

Heidi gasped.

‘Ee you cannot do that, Chloe, Christmas is magic.’

‘Well then I wish it would just magic itself away to Fuck Right Off Land.’

Heidi pulled into a parking space opposite Tynemouth Metro station. The place I had met Zachary Doyle, the man who was messing with my brain with his modest handsomeness and his compliments about my cakes and his handsomeness…

I stood at the entrance to the nineteenth century station building that housed book fairs, art exhibitions and the weekend flea market, which attracted people from all over the Northeast to discover the antiques, books, crafts and edible delicacies on offer every week.

‘You know, I was thinking we should do a stall here one week,’ said Heidi as she shoved her car keys into her bag, ‘we could sell some of Roxy’s stuff and we could make things. The Charity Shop has been so quiet lately because the stock’s not the best. I reckon everyone’s hanging on to stuff during the recession they might normally chuck out, so I’m worried we’re not viable anymore. It would be canny good to help out and make some extra money to buy pressies for the kiddies at Christmas.’

Bloody hell, short of renaming myself Scrooge in response to her plea for Tiny Tim, how could I say no to that?

‘You could even keep some of the profits too what with you not having a job. Every penny counts at this time of year.’

I sighed, the visible cloud of my breath drifting sluggishly away on the frosty air. It mixed with the sound of Christmas Carols and the happy chatter of customers and stallholders emanating from the station. The aroma of bacon sandwiches tickled my nose. I shoved my hands deep into my coat pockets and turned my back to the entrance.

‘I’m not a charity, Heidi and I’m not quite that desperate yet. I’m still thinking positive. Who knows? I may have a job by the end of the week.’

Heidi grimaced and touched my arm.

‘I’m sorry pet I was just thinking out loud.’

‘It’s alright, I know what you meant and I think the stall is a good idea for the real charity. Just let me know when and I’ll get some stuff together. But if you don’t mind I might give the flea market a miss today. It’s Monday tomorrow and really the only market I should be concentrating on is the job market. If I don’t find a job before mid-December, everyone will disappear off on holiday and it will be mid-January until I get anything sorted.’

‘I understand, pet, do you want a lift home?’