Meet Me at the Cupcake Café (15 page)

‘I’m not sure she’d appreciate it,’ said Des. ‘I’ll give it a couple of days and ring her.’

‘Will you?’

‘Yes,’ Des said stoically. ‘And now, you and I have quite a lot of paperwork to go over.’

Issy obediently followed him through to the back of the office.

‘Did she really take that entire tin of cakes?’ said Des sadly. He hadn’t liked the look of the lemon cake, but the rest of it had seemed delicious.

‘I’m sure I have a spare in tinfoil in my handbag,’ said Issy, who’d been saving it for a celebratory or commiserative treat, whichever was needed. ‘Would you like it?’

He did.

Issy arrived home with a bottle of champagne. Helena, who got back after her shift weary after stitching up a bottle-throwing incident that had got well out of control, suddenly perked up. ‘Oh my God!’ she said. ‘You got it!’

‘It was Gramps’s cakes,’ said Issy with feeling. ‘I can’t believe he’s repaying me like this for putting him in a home.’

‘You didn’t put him in a home,’ said Helena, exasperated to be having this conversation yet again. ‘You moved him somewhere safe and comfortable. What, you want him here, messing about with your Bosch oven?’

‘No,’ said Issy, reluctantly, ‘but …’

Helena made an ‘enough’ gesture with her hands. Sometimes it was very reassuring, Issy thought, that she was so bossy and knew her own mind.

‘To Gramps,’ said Helena, raising her glass. ‘And to you! And the success of the Cupcake Café! Full of hot men. Do hot men go to cake shops?’

‘Yes,’ said Issy. ‘With their husbands.’

The two friends clinked glasses and hugged. Suddenly, Issy’s phone rang. She moved to pick it up.

‘Maybe it’s your first customer,’ said Helena. ‘Or that scary-sounding landlord, calling to threaten to whack your kneecaps as a warning.’

It was neither. Issy stared at the number on the phone, then pulled out a strand of her hair and wrapped it round her index finger, thinking. Watching the phone, almost, to see what it would do. Naturally, it rang again, startling her once more. Frozen, she slowly – so slowly, and yet the idea of a message being left was more than she could bear – reached out her hand. Helena caught her expression – half terror, half longing – just in time, and wanted to reach out, stop her from answering the phone. With that odd sixth sense of close friends, she had known immediately who it would be. But it was too late.

‘Graeme?’ said Issy huskily.

Mind you, reflected Helena, Issy had given her loads of good advice about Imran. And how long had it taken her to stop seeing him? Eighteen months. When he got married. She sighed.

‘Babes, where have you been?’ said Graeme, as if they’d last chatted about two hours ago and he’d been looking for her in a shopping centre.

It had taken more from Graeme to make this phone call than Issy could know. At first he’d told himself that things would have come to an end anyway; he wasn’t ready to settle down, it wasn’t like they were serious or anything. And he had a lot of work to do.

But then, gradually, as the weeks had gone on and he hadn’t heard from her, he’d felt an unfamiliar emotion. He missed her. Missed her gentleness, and her genuine interest in him and what he was doing; missed her cooking, obviously. He’d gone out with the lads, pulled a couple of really fit-looking birds, but when it came down to it … there was something about being with Issy that was just so easy-going. She didn’t give him hassle, didn’t nag his ear off or want to spend his money. He liked her. It was that simple. Although normally he didn’t like to look back in his life, he decided to give her a call. Just to see her. Sometimes after a long day she’d run him a bath and give him a massage. He’d like a bit of that too. And what had happened at the office … it was just business, wasn’t it? She had to be let go, that was just how things were at the moment. She’d probably have another job by now anyway. He’d written her an amazing reference, a bit more than her admin skills deserved, and Cal Mehta had too. She’d be over it by now. By the time he picked up the phone, Graeme had managed to convince himself that it would all be cool.

Issy, deliberately not looking at her flatmate, got up and left the room, still carrying the phone. It took her a long time to speak – so long, in fact, that Graeme had to say, ‘Hello? Hello? Are you still there?’

Over the last few weeks she had lain tossing and turning in bed; the shame and the pain of losing her job would then be overtaken by the misery and frustration of losing Graeme. It was unbearable. Awful. She hated him. She hated him. He had used her like some kind of stupid office perk.

But he hadn’t, she heard herself say on one level. There had been something there. There had. Something real. He had told her things …

But had he just been saying those things to any willing ear? Was she a trustworthy place to dump stuff? Was it useful having a professional confidante who would also cook for you and sleep with you? Just handy for him on his way up the career ladder – after all, he was only thirty-five. He had years yet before he even had to think about settling down. And really, why would someone so handsome and successful be interested in her? Those were the 4am thoughts, when she felt so worthless and inadequate that it was almost funny. Not funny, but almost.

And now the café coming along – that had seemed providential; perfect really. Something good and concrete she could pour her energies into; a new door into a new life. A way to leave all her old worries behind her. Start afresh.

‘You still there?’

She panicked. Should she play it cool, pretend she’d hardly been thinking about him – when she had, compulsively? She remembered storming out of the office in that huge fit of pique. She remembered some of the more, ahem, inappropriate toasts she’d made about him at her leaving bash. How for the first few days she was sure he’d ring, sure of it, say he’d made a terrible mistake and that he loved her and please could she come back, life was crap without her. Then those days had turned into weeks and over a month and she had a new course now, finally, and there was no going back …

‘Hello?’ she said finally, her voice coming out like a strangled whisper.

‘Can you talk?’ said Graeme. This riled her for some reason. What on earth did he think she was doing?

‘Not really,’ she said. ‘I’m in bed with George Clooney and he’s just gone off to open a fresh bottle of champage to top up the jacuzzi.’

Graeme laughed. ‘Oh Issy, I have missed you.’

Issy felt, out of nowhere, a sob hit her throat and desperately tried to gulp it back down. He hadn’t missed her! He hadn’t bloody missed her! Because if he’d thought about her at all, for one tiny second, he’d have realized the one single solitary time she needed him more than anything or anyone in the world had been after she’d lost her job; her boyfriend; her entire life. After he had decided that she should lose her job. And he hadn’t given a shit.

‘No you haven’t,’ she managed, finally. ‘Course you bloody haven’t. Now you’ve got rid of me and everything.’

Graeme sighed. ‘I didn’t think you’d be like this.’

Issy bit down on her lip. ‘As opposed to what – grateful?’

‘Yes, well, you know. Maybe a bit. Grateful to be given the opportunity to go out and do a bit more with your life. You know you’re capable, Issy. And anyway, how could I have contacted you before? It would have been completely inappropriate, you must understand that.’

Issy didn’t say anything. She didn’t want him to think he was sounding reasonable.

‘Look,’ he said honestly. ‘I’ve been thinking about you a lot.’

‘Have you really? When you just dumped my job and then dumped me?’

‘I didn’t dump you!’ said Graeme, sounding exasperated. ‘Your job disappeared. Everyone’s job was at risk! And I was trying to protect you from the fact that you and I had a personal relationship, then you went and shouted about it all over the office! That was really embarrassing to me, Issy.’

‘They all knew about it anyway,’ said Issy sulkily.

‘Well, that’s not the point. You yelled about it in front of everyone and made some pretty off-colour remarks down the pub, from what I heard.’

There is
no
loyalty in offices, thought Issy crossly.

‘So why are you calling me now then?’ she asked.

Graeme’s voice went soft.

‘Well, I just wanted to see how you were. What, you think I’m a complete bastard?’

Was it possible? Issy wondered. Was it possible that she had got it wrong? After all, she had stormed out of his office, shouting. Maybe she wasn’t the only injured party here. Maybe he’d been as shocked and upset as she was. Maybe it had taken quite a lot of guts for him to make this phone call. Maybe he wasn’t the arse; maybe he was still – you know – the one.

‘Well …’ she said. Just at that moment, Helena marched into her room without knocking. She was carrying a hastily erected sign, scrawled on the back of a council tax reminder. In big black letters was written ‘
NO!
’

Helena punched her fists in the air like they were at a demonstration, mouthing, ‘
No! No! No!
’ very ferociously in her direction. Issy tried to wave her away, but she just advanced even more. Helena was reaching out a hand to grab the phone.

‘Shoo!’ said Issy. ‘Shoo!’

‘What’s that?’ said Graeme.

‘Oh, it’s just my flatmate,’ said Issy. ‘Sorry.’

‘What, the large one?’

Unfortunately Graeme’s carrying voice came right over the phone.

‘
Right!
’ said Helena, and made a lunge for the telephone.

‘No!’ shrieked Issy. ‘It’s fine. I’m fine. I don’t need saving, OK. But we do need to talk. So would you mind pissing off for five minutes and giving us some privacy?’

She stared hard at Helena until she retreated back to the sitting room.

‘Sorry about that,’ Issy said finally to Graeme. But he sounded much perkier.

‘Are we fine? We’re fine,’ he said, sounding relieved. ‘Oh good. That’s great.’ There was a pause. ‘Want to come over?’

‘
No!
’ said Issy.

‘You’re not going,’ said Helena, standing in the doorway with her arms folded, and giving Issy the look she gave drunks who turned up at 1.30am bleeding from the head on a Saturday night. ‘You’re not.’