Meet Me at the Cupcake Café (21 page)

Chapter Eight

Hello, my darling Issy. You know, not every time is right for a big, full-on cake. Sometimes, you want a little essence of sweetness that is more like a kiss, or a friendly word on a sad day. And also, you know what pears are like. Ripe for ten seconds then you’ve missed it. Whereas this works very well with pears you’ve just missed, or the hard ones that go all powdery. Cake is a very forgiving mistress to bad pears.

Pear Upside-Down Cake

3 pears, peeled, halved and cored

7 oz butter

7 oz caster sugar

3 eggs

7 oz self-raising flour, sifted

3 tbsp milk

1 tbsp icing sugar

Arrange the pear halves evenly over the bottom of a buttered pudding dish and set aside. Using a wooden spoon (
not
the mixer. I know you think the mixer, but I say to you, did I build three bakeries in Manchester with electric mixers? Well, eventually, yes. But at first we did it with the wooden spoon, and so should you), cream the butter and sugar together in a large bowl until the mixture is light and fluffy.

Beat in the eggs, adding them one at a time and mixing well after each addition. Add the flour to the bowl, gently folding it into the mixture, then stir in the milk. Spoon the cake mixture evenly over the pears and smooth the surface.

Cook in a preheated oven at 350°F/gas mark 4 for 45 minutes, until the surface is firm when gently touched and the cake comes slightly away from the sides of the dish.

Remove from the oven, let it cool for five minutes, then turn out on to a serving plate. Dust the top of the cake evenly with icing sugar and serve immediately. Congratulate the pears on a job well done.

Love, Gramps xx

Issy was getting up just as Helena was coming in from night shift, weary but slightly hysterical from the unit’s success in saving all four teenagers from a joyriding smash-up on the A10.

‘Hey,’ she said, noticing Issy grinding fresh beans for coffee. ‘You’re perking up!’

‘Want one?’ said Issy. ‘I am go go go today.’

‘
No
thank you. I have enough problems sleeping off night shift as it is.’

‘Well, try and catch up. I think I’ve found a man for your list.’

Helena raised her eyebrows. ‘Does he have penetrating brown eyes and an offbeat smile?’

‘No, Helena. That’s John Cusack again.’

‘Oh yes.’

‘He’s called Austin. He’s got reddish-brown hair and works in a bank and—’

‘Stop right there,’ said Helena. ‘Two gingers? It’s a calamity waiting to happen.’ She smiled at her flatmate. ‘It’s good to see you on form again.’

‘I got the loan
and
I’m going to meet a potential member of staff.’

‘Well, that is just great,’ said Helena. ‘Pretend you’re always this upbeat.’

Issy kissed her and left the flat.

Across town, Pearl McGregor turned over in the bed. Something – someone – was kicking her. Hard. It was like being bombarded by a very small elephant.

‘
Who
is that elephant in my bed?’

It wasn’t really a bed, it was a mattress on the floor. She had a fold-out sofa for their little two-room flat – her mother had the bedroom – but it was just too uncomfortable so they’d got an old mattress and propped it up against the wall during the day. Pearl had tried to smarten it up by sewing a patchwork bedspread and some cushions. Louis was meant to sleep in with her mum, but he always gravitated towards her in the night, and woke her up bright and early.

‘Coco Pops!’ came a tiny voice from deep under the duvet. ‘Coco Pops, Mummy!’

‘Who said that?’ Pearl pretended to search the bed. ‘I thought I heard a voice, but there can’t be anyone in
my
bed.’

There were stifled giggles from down by her feet.

‘Nope, no one is in
my
bed.’

Louis went silent till all she could hear was his excited breathing.

‘OK, good, I will go back to sleep and forget about all those elephants.’

‘
Noooo! Mummy!
Is me!! Wan Coco Pops!’

Louis flung himself into her arms and Pearl buried her face in his neck, sucking in the warm sleepy smell of him. There were a lot of drawbacks to single motherhood, but the alarm clock wasn’t one of them.

With the curtains open (also one of Pearl’s needlework creations), Louis propped up by the breakfast bar and her mother enjoying a cup of tea in bed, Pearl looked down at her notebook. Today the two of them could maybe go to the drop-in centre while she went round the shops. It was absolutely freezing outside but she’d tell her mum that she and Louis should stay as long as they could at the centre, so they could turn off the heating in the flat. Tea was fifteen pence there, she could handle that. Then the freezer shop was doing a deal on sausages so she’d buy as many as she could manage. A bit of her felt bad at not budgeting for more fresh fruit for Louis – she watched his adorable baby tummy spill over the top of his cheap pyjamas. And nappies. She dreaded buying nappies. She’d tried potty-training him but he was barely two, he didn’t have a clue what was going on. She just ended up spending more down the laundrette, it didn’t make sense. Then she’d go back to Tesco. They must have something coming up soon, they must do. And she’d heard that you could work around your childcare … Suddenly, groggily, she remembered. It was today! She was going to see that scatty girl. Something about a coffee shop! She rushed to turn the shower on, just as Louis put his hands up round her neck.

‘
Cuggles!
’ he shouted joyously, Coco Pops finished, as he launched himself at her again. Pearl hugged him back.

‘You are
so
damn cute,’ she said.’

‘TV on,’ said Louis happily. He knew how to get his mother in a good mood.

‘No way,’ said Pearl. ‘
We
have things to do today.’

It was a bright, frosty Friday morning when Pearl and Issy met outside the Cupcake Café. Their breath showed over the steaming cups of takeaway coffee they’d had to buy four hundred metres up the road. Pearl was dressed in a large pinafore and holding Louis by the hand.

Louis was an exquisite-looking child: roly-poly and caramel-coloured, with wide, sparkling eyes and a ready grin. He immediately took the proffered cake from his fond mother and sat down with two racing cars under the spindly tree.

Issy, having left the house in such a positive mood, suddenly felt a bit nervous; this was almost like a blind date. If this worked out, they would be spending eight, nine, ten hours a day together. If it didn’t, that could be a disaster. Was it a huge mistake to be planning a business relationship with someone she’d only met once before? Or should she follow her gut instinct?

Her doubts, though, began to fade as she showed Pearl the shop, and took in her obvious excitement. Pearl could see absolutely what Issy saw in it; could envisage it finished. She even insisted on going down into the cellar. Why do you want to go down there? Issy had asked and Pearl had pointed out that before they agreed to do anything they might as well check that she could actually fit into the narrow stairway and Issy said of course she could, she wasn’t that big, and Pearl had snorted good-naturedly, but Issy did mentally plan to build out the counter another couple of inches, just for ease of use.

The more Pearl saw, the more she liked it. It had character, this place. And Issy’s pear cake had been frankly amazing; lighter than air and lingering. If the venue scrubbed up right – and here in north London, where there were enough people who didn’t see anything wrong with paying over two pounds for a cup of coffee, she couldn’t see why it wouldn’t work – she’d love to work here. Issy seemed nice – a bit naïve in the ways of business, obviously, but everyone had to start somewhere – and a warm, cosy, scented café with friendly hungry people and reasonable hours would be a lot nicer than most of the places she’d worked, that was for sure.

But there was one problem. She loved him to bits but he was, undeniably, a problem.

‘What opening hours were you thinking of?’ she asked.

‘Well, I was thinking eight am. That’s the time most people are heading for work and might want to grab a coffee,’ said Issy. ‘If that works well we could do croissants too, they’re not hard to make.’

Pearl raised her eyebrows.

‘So the hours would be …’

‘I was thinking, to begin with, seven thirty till four thirty?’ said Issy. ‘We’ll close after lunchtime cakes.’

‘How many days a week?’ said Pearl.

‘Uh, I thought see how it goes. If it works well, I’d like it to be only five,’ said Issy. ‘But including Saturdays to begin with.’

‘And how many staff are you going to have?’

Issy blinked. ‘Uh, well, I was thinking maybe just us to begin with.’

‘I mean, if one of us is sick or on holiday, or on a break, or …’

Issy felt a bit prickled. Pearl hadn’t even started yet and already she was talking about time off.

‘Well, yes, I thought we could work that out as we go.’

Pearl frowned. She was sad; this was by far the best, the most interesting opportunity that had come along for ages. It would be exciting trying to get a little fledgling business off the ground; she could almost certainly make herself useful here and there was nothing involved in the job that she hadn’t done before. Whereas Issy, she surmised, had done quite a lot of sitting in a nice office checking her Facebook status and might well find all the hard work something of a surprise. Louis was running up to the cellar steps, checking the dark depths with delighted terror and hopping back to his mother’s skirts again.

Issy was looking at her, troubled. When she’d thought of Pearl it had seemed like the answer to all her problems. But here was the woman now, not jumping at what Issy had assumed would be a fantastic opportunity for her. She swallowed hard. Pearl didn’t even have a job. Why was she quibbling about this one?

‘I … I’m so sorry, Issy,’ said Pearl. ‘I don’t think I can.’

‘Why not?’ said Issy, sounding emotional without meaning to. It was her dream after all, nobody else’s.

Regretfully, Pearl indicated Louis, who was trying to catch dust motes between his fingers.

‘I can’t leave him alone with my mother every single morning. She’s not that well and it’s not fair on her, or me, or Louis. We live in Lewisham, it’s a long way away.’

Issy was stung, even though she knew it wasn’t fair. What a thing to be getting in the way. How did mothers work? she wondered. She’d never really thought about it before. All those nice women who were on the tills at Tesco at 7am, or cleaned offices, or worked on the tube lines. What did they do with their children? Did they have children? How was it done? She remembered the mums at KD, always looking harassed, like they’d left something on the bus; trying to sneak out early on end-of-term days; jumping when the phone rang.