Meet Me at the Cupcake Café (29 page)

Austin was fighting his way to the pound shop to see if they had something good for Darny to wear to a fancy-dress party – he’d like to buy him that Spiderman costume with the muscles he really wanted, but when he’d paid for after-school care plus the mortgage his parents had thoughtlessly not paid off before they died, plus the day-to-day living expenses, plus the late fees on all the bills he always meant to move on to direct debit but never seemed to manage, there was precious little left, and there seemed no point in buying anything pricey as Darny rarely came home without huge rents in filthy clothing. (He had horrified a putative girlfriend of Austin’s a few years ago by answering the question, ‘What do you like doing?’ with ‘
Fighting!
’ Then he had jumped on her and pummelled her to show exactly what he meant. Austin hadn’t seen much of Julia after that.) As he’d nearly made it across the road he saw Isabel Randall standing by the
Wait
sign but not crossing.

‘Hello,’ he said. Issy looked up at him, blinking back tears. She couldn’t help it, she was glad to see a friendly face. But she didn’t trust herself to speak, in case she suddenly broke down.

‘Hello,’ Austin said again, worried she hadn’t recognized him. Issy swallowed hard and reminded herself that crying in front of her bank manager was possibly the worst look imaginable.

‘Um. Er. Hello,’ she managed finally, trying not to trumpet a huge wall of snot at him.

Austin was used to being taller than everyone around him and having to make a real effort to peer down and check out people’s faces, and he didn’t like to look as if he were staring. On the other hand, she sounded really weird. He looked into her face. Her eyes were shiny and her nose was red. In Darny, that was rarely a good sign.

‘Are you all right?’ he said. Issy wished he didn’t sound so kind. He was going to set her off again. Austin could see quite a lot of restraining going on. He put a hand on her shoulder. ‘Would you like to get a coffee somewhere?’

He cursed the words as soon as they were out of his mouth. To Issy’s credit she managed not to actually burst into tears, but one lone drop did trickle slowly and obviously all the way down her cheek.

‘No, no, no, of course you wouldn’t … of course not. Um.’

For want of anywhere better to go, they ended up in a horrible pub, full of morning drinkers. Issy ordered a green tea and dredged the scum off the top with a spoon, and Austin looked around nervously then ordered a Fanta.

‘I’m sorry,’ said Issy several times. But then, somehow – and she was sure she would regret this – she ended up telling him the whole thing. He was just so easy to talk to. Austin winced.

‘And now I’m telling you,’ concluded Issy, worried she was going to start crying again, ‘you’re going to think I’m totally rubbish and too wimpy for business and you’re going to think I’ll fail, and you know, it might fail. If they all gang up on me … it’ll be like the mafia, Austin! I’ll have to pay protection money, and they’ll come round and put a horse’s head in my oven!’

‘I think they’re all vegetarians,’ said Austin, draining his Fanta and spilling some on his shirt. Issy gulped and tried a tentative smile.

‘You’ve spilled some of your drink,’ she pointed out.

‘I know,’ said Austin, ‘but I look stupid when I use a straw.’

He leaned forward. Issy was conscious, suddenly, of how long his eyelashes were. Having his face so close to hers suddenly felt strange and intimate.

‘Look, I know those guys up there. They came to us on a campaign to make us do more ethical banking and then we pointed out to them that banking isn’t terribly ethical and that we couldn’t absolutely promise that some of our investments weren’t in the defence industry, seeing as it is, you know, Britain’s biggest industry, and they screamed and called us all fascists and stormed out and then called us back later and asked for a loan. And there were about sixteen of them too. Their business plan included the four-hour weekly meeting they have to make the co-operative fair. Apparently it frequently ends up in physical violence.’

Issy smiled weakly. Of course Austin was only trying to cheer her up – he would do this for anybody – but nonetheless it was definitely helping.

‘And don’t you worry a bit about “café solidarity”. They all hate each other’s guts on that street. Honestly, if one of the cafés burned down they’d be absolutely delighted. So don’t think they’re all going to gang up against you, they can’t even manage to gang up to clean their own toilet, as I noticed when I had to take Darny in there one day in an emergency. Does dreadful things to the digestion, too much vegan food.’

Issy laughed.

‘That’s better.’

‘You know,’ said Issy, ‘I’m not always like this. I actually used to be quite a fun person, before I got into the whole running-a-business thing.’

‘Are you sure?’ said Austin gravely. ‘Maybe you were even worse and this is you lightening up.’

Issy smiled again. ‘Oh yes, you’re totally right – I remember now. I was a goth and didn’t leave the house. And I listened to a lot of very serious music and sighed a lot like this.’

She sighed loudly. Austin sighed too.

‘So you thought you’d get into happy cakes …’ he said.

‘Which you never eat.’

‘For very sound reasons.’

‘And yes, this is me ecstatic now,’ said Issy.

‘ I knew it,’ he replied.

Issy really did feel better.

‘OK,’ said Austin, heaving another big sigh. ‘You’ve talked me into it. Give me one of your depressive cupcakes.’

‘Ha!’ said Issy. ‘No!’

‘What do you mean, no? I’m your banking adviser. Give me one immediately.’

‘No, because I can’t,’ said Issy, indicating the red-nosed, ruined faces of the morning drinkers lining the bar. ‘I handed them out when you went to the loo. They looked so hungry and they were so appreciative.’

Austin shook his head as they got up to leave, happily toasted by the line of poor old men along the bar.

‘You are a very soft touch, Miss Randall.’

‘I’ll take that as a compliment, Mr Tyler.’

‘Don’t,’ said Austin suddenly and fiercely as he opened the door for her. He was shocked to find, suddenly, how much he wanted to … no, he mustn’t think that way. Really, he just so wanted Issy to succeed. That was it. She was a nice person with a nice café, and he really wanted things to start going right for her. And the wash of inexplicable tenderness that had come over him, looking at that lone tear roll down her pink cheek – that was just simple fellow feeling. Of course it was.

For her part, Issy looked up into his handsome, kind face and found herself slightly wishing that they could stay in the world’s grottiest, smelliest pub for a little longer.

‘Don’t what?’

‘Don’t be too nice, Issy. Not in business. Just assume everyone around you is as much of an arse as that woman was – whose name, you may be interested to know, is Rainbow Honeychurch, although her birth certificate says Joan Millson—’

‘I
am
quite interested to know that,’ added Issy.

‘—and you know, if you are going to survive, if this is going to work, Issy, you’ll just have to toughen up.’

Issy thought of the tired, discontented faces of the shopkeepers along the street and wondered if that was what they’d had to do: toughen up. Tough it out. Take the shit on board.

And Austin, even as he was saying the words, wondered if he meant them. Obviously Issy should toughen up – toughen up and fight for this business. But he wondered if she wasn’t a better, sweeter person the way she was.

‘I will,’ said Issy, with a worried look on her face.

‘Good,’ said Austin, shaking her small hand gravely. She smiled, and squeezed his hand back. Suddenly, neither of them wanted to be the first to take their hand away.

Fortunately Issy’s phone rang – it was the shop number; Pearl wanting to know where she was, no doubt – so she could, slightly flustered, move away first.

‘Um,’ she said. ‘But is it OK if I go the other way back to the café? Just this once? I don’t want them to start throwing things at me.’

‘You don’t,’ said Austin. ‘Their flapjacks are rock solid.’

Chapter Twelve

Brandy and Horlicks Get Well Cake

A good strong healing cake will make you feel better, like the time you were coming home from a terrible day at school and it was getting dark and you were cold in your blazer and you came round the end of your road and you saw the light on in your house and Marian was still there and she gave you a cuddle and something to eat and everything was much better. This cake tastes like that. It should not be too heavy, so it works well for invalids. Please send me a batch, Issy dear, so I can get out of this place.

8 oz butter, softened

4 oz caster sugar

5 eggs

½ tin sweetened condensed milk

8 oz Horlicks

8 oz plain flour

½ tsp vanilla extract

2 tbsp cognac

Grease the small square tin and line the base and sides with baking paper. Allow the baking paper to extend over the top by about an inch if using the shorter tin.

Beat the butter and sugar until pale and fluffy. Beat in the eggs, one by one, until well combined. Beat in the sweetened condensed milk until well mixed. Stir in Horlicks. Fold in flour. Finally stir in vanilla and cognac.

Pour the batter into the prepared tin (the batter will fill the tin to almost 90 per cent, but the cake will not rise up too much, so don’t worry, darling). Cover the top loosely with a piece of aluminium foil.

Steam over high heat for 30 minutes. Fill up with more hot water if the steamer is low on water after 30 minutes. Turn heat down to medium and steam for another 60 minutes, or until cooked (may steam for up to 4 hours in total if desired – this, according to wisdom, allows the cake to be kept for up to a month). Remember to replenish steamer with hot water whenever it is drying up.

Mrs Prescott the accountant was having strong words with Issy that week on cash flow. It was mid-April, and the weak evening sun was filtering through the basement blinds. Issy was dead tired, and couldn’t even remember where they kept the steamer. Her feet hurt from standing up all day serving a total of sixteen customers, and she’d let Pearl go early when she got a phone call from the nursery saying Louis was upset.

‘It’s those horrible kids,’ she’d said, cursing. ‘They just stare at him. Then they play stupid games he doesn’t know like Ring a Ring o’ bloody Roses so he can’t join in.’

Issy had wondered at this.

‘Stupid snobs,’ said Pearl.

‘Can’t he learn Ring a Ring o’ Roses?’ Issy said. ‘I’ll teach him if you like.’

‘That’s not the point,’ said Pearl. Her voice went quiet. ‘They’re calling him names.’

Issy was shocked. She had noticed that Louis was lingering longer and longer over his morning muffin, sitting on the counter singing sad little songs to himself. He didn’t fuss or throw tantrums, but his normal ebullience seemed to seep away the closer it got to nursery time.

Sometimes Issy picked him up, and he would cling to her like a little huddling cub, and then Issy didn’t want him to go to nursery either.

‘What kind of names?’ Issy asked, surprised by how furious she was.

Pearl’s voice started to choke. ‘Fatty bum-bum.’

Issy bit her lip. ‘Oh.’

‘What?’ said Pearl defensively. ‘There’s nothing wrong with him! He’s perfect! He’s a gorgeous, plump baby.’

‘He’ll be fine,’ said Issy. ‘He’s just settling in. Nursery’s a new world.’

But she’d let Pearl take the afternoon off anyway. It didn’t matter that they didn’t have many customers, or that many of their tables and chairs hardly got used; every day Pearl scrubbed out the toilets, made the tables shine and washed down the arms and legs of the chairs. The place gleamed like a new pin. Maybe that was the problem, Issy thought in an idle moment. Maybe people were scared to mess it up.