Saint Kate of the Cupcake: The Dangers of Lust and Baking (6 page)

Jack finally found a job in London, doing something in banking, though I wasn’t sure exactly what. Whatever it was, it didn’t seem to take up a lot of time or require onerous hours. There was a bit of work he had to do on his own time at home, but he was still able to go out with friends until the early hours of the morning and either go straight to work or just go home for a quick shower and change. My job wasn’t particularly hard, but I certainly wouldn’t have been able to do it hung over and without sleep. Still, he was seemingly always available and constantly attentive, which was incredibly flattering. Although he nominally had his own place, he spent most of his time at mine as I lived alone now, Megan having moved in with her South African boyfriend.

Our relationship changed too as we became more familiar with each other on a physical level. Jack seemed to be interested in parts of my life that I wasn’t used to a boyfriend delving into.

“Let’s go shopping today, Katie,” he announced one Saturday over breakfast.

“Huh?” I grunted, still not fully awake. He ruffled my sleepy head playfully.

“We go to so many parties for me, and I want to buy you something to say thanks.”

“That’s okay, really. I have a few black dresses which work for most of them.”

“Ah…actually…don’t take this the wrong way, but there have been some comments on how you wear the same thing all the time.”

“What?” I spluttered, fully awake now. I was taken aback that it mattered what I wore, or that Jack was listening to snipy comments by those bitchy girls in his group. Since when do men care what you wear?

“It’s not a big deal!” He waved his hands, backtracking. “I know it’s stupid, but people pay attention to those things. Just let me help you out…”

“I don’t need help with money,” I answered, my tone frosty. “I have a perfectly good job. I just choose not to waste ridiculous sums of money on designer things that don’t really suit me anyway.”

“I’ll help. We’ll do it together,” he pleaded. God, I really was embarrassing him, which was mortifying. I nodded, unable to speak at that moment.

Jack dragged me to Selfridges, and I submitted to the pressured shopping with as much grace as I could muster. I really didn’t think I was a prime candidate for a makeover—it wasn’t like anyone had complained about my style before. Admittedly, I was no fashionista, but I had always thought I was reasonably well put together, though I did run toward the simple and conservative. Jack produced outfit after outfit, all of which were the sort of things the other girls wore. I felt worse and worse with every change, as if I was stripping away layers of my personality with my clothes.

I realized I was being melodramatic. After all, they were just bits of material, and they would make me fit in better with Jack’s friends, rather than shout my Sydney roots and my otherness.
Suck it up,
I told myself sternly.
How many women would kill to be in my position, shopping with their gorgeous boyfriend who wanted to buy them clothes?

Jack sat happily on the couch outside the change room, smiling encouragingly when I emerged in a new outfit. I had to admit, the clothes didn’t look bad; they just weren’t what I would normally wear—velvet blazers with leather elbow patches, floaty silk dresses in pale pinks and creams, knitted vests, and way too many things with checks on them.

“That one is perfect!” he exclaimed as I emerged in a midnight-blue velvet evening gown.

“Really?” I asked skeptically.

“I’m buying it. I won’t take no for an answer.”

“Okay. Thanks!” I said, mustering a smile. I felt uneasy about this whole situation, but I also wasn’t sure what I could do about it. I didn’t want to offend Jack, and I wanted him to be happy, but still.

“We’ll get that, the jacket and the black tailored pants, and the silk shirty thing. That will do for a start. How about a headband to match the jacket?” he asked.

I checked to see if he was joking. Unfortunately, he wasn’t.

“Absolutely not,” I said firmly. There were lines that I would never cross.

“Okay. But you need some pearls.”

Swearing under my breath, I went back into the change room to put on my jeans.

“I can hear you!” he called out, amused.

We didn’t buy the pearls, but they turned up as a gift the following week. I now had a Sloane Ranger uniform, but could I actually wear it out in public without feeling like I was dressed as someone else? That was the thousand-pounds-of-Jack’s-money question.

“Have you ever thought about getting blond streaks?” Jack asked over dinner the following Saturday night. I was starting to see a bit of a pattern here.

“No, have you?” I shot back.

Jack laughed. “I thought everyone was getting them now,” he replied conversationally.

“Not when you have hair as dark as mine. It would just look strange and skunk-like.”

“Hmm,” Jack murmured.

“Right,” I said, rolling my eyes. Was I a fixer-upper for Jack? With a bit of renovation, could I be a better girlfriend? It’s not like he had suggested anything too radical, but I wasn’t used to a man who was this concerned with my appearance.

“Are you trying to change me?” I asked, deciding to be upfront about it.

“No!” He looked surprised. “I’m sorry. I think you’re perfect. I just want to be interested in the things you’re interested in. Don’t girls talk about hair and clothes and stuff?”

“Yes, but not like that.” I laughed, relieved my fears were unfounded. “It feels like you’re trying to change me into a clone of the other girls in your group, and that’s not who I am. It makes me question why you’re with me when what you seem to want is one of them.”

“I don’t want one of them!” he shouted. “God, it would make my life easier if I did. I want you.”

“Why?” Part of me was terrified to hear the answer, but this conversation was long overdue. “Why are you with someone who makes things difficult, particularly with your mother?”

“That’s what’s so fantastic about you; you’re not with me because of all that. You actually look at me and see the person inside. Everyone else just seems to see the other stuff and my ‘potential.’”

I sat there stunned, trying to take in what he said. It wasn’t exactly romantic, but it did seem honest. He reached over and grabbed my hand, squeezing it.

“I’m sorry; I probably didn’t say that right. But in my defense, I spent most of my formative years in boy’s prison, fallaciously referred to as a school, so I don’t really know what I’m doing with the whole relationship thing. I really am trying not to fuck things up with you. I love you.”

My heart melted. “You’re adorable.” I kissed him gently, which now quickly led into other things.

We had been seeing each other for just over five months when we had “the talk.” We were spending a lazy Sunday morning in my warm bed, reading our books, when he put his down and turned to face me. He pulled my book out of my hands and placed it on the bed and then put his head on the pillow next to mine and looked into my eyes.

“Hey! I was reading that!” I objected, trying to lean over him and retrieve it.

“What do you want out of this?” he asked. Surprised, I lay back down. His hand started stroking my stomach almost absentmindedly.

“What do I want out of what?” I asked, distracted by the movement of his hand and the randomness of the question.

“From us, from me.”
Oh!
Now I knew where he was going.

“Um…I don’t know. What do you want?” I hedged.

“I asked first.”

“Do we need to do this?” There was more than a hint of pleading in my voice. I was still enjoying the lassitude that came from lying around in bed with him and not having to get up for work. I had a strong feeling this conversation would kill it off.

“Maybe I want to know,” he said stubbornly.

“Okay. What specifically do you want to know?” I pushed myself up onto one elbow, resting my head on my hand.

“Are you going to leave to go back to Australia?”

“Well, yes,” I said slowly, “but I still have a year left on my visa.” I watched his face carefully.

“I don’t want you to leave.” He wrapped an arm around my waist and pulled me in closer so we were skin to skin.

“That’s really sweet, but my work isn’t sponsoring anyone at the moment and getting a visa on my own isn’t easy. Also, I miss home a bit.” I kissed him lightly on the lips.

“What about through me? We could move in together,” he suggested.

I couldn’t help but laugh at the thought of that, even though I was sure he meant it. “Your mother would have a fit! I’m pretty sure living with someone wouldn’t be the ‘done thing.’” Thinking of Edwina’s reaction to my living in sin with her son was hilarious. I wondered if she would actually spontaneously combust. “You might be disinherited,” I said teasingly.

“Why don’t you marry me then?” he said, eyes sparkling. He had been playing with me before, intending to get to this question all along.

I looked at him closely, trying to see if he was joking. I half-expected him to grin and laugh and say “just kidding,” but he didn’t.

“We’ve only known each other for five months. Isn’t that a bit soon?” I said carefully.

“I love you. I know you’re the right woman for me, and I want to spend the rest of my life with you. You’re incredible, and we’re perfect for each other.” He kissed me enthusiastically. “You make me happier than I’ve ever been before. Letting you leave would be unbearable.” He grimaced playfully.

“I love you too,” I said. I thought for a moment, going through the pros and cons. There were lots of pros, and the only cons were our age and the fact that we hadn’t known each other for very long. That and we came from different countries and his mother hated me and so did most of the girls in his group of friends…I frowned as the list started getting longer. Despite all the reasons against it, if I listened to my gut, it felt right, strangely enough.

“But are you sure?” I asked, giving him an out if he hadn’t really thought this through and had just made a spontaneous offer. This wasn’t how I imagined being proposed to, but it was very Jack.

“Absolutely! Well, then, it’s settled. Let’s go buy a ring!” He jumped out of bed, full of boyish enthusiasm, pulling me laughing with him.

We were so young and in love, our blood full of fire and so incredibly hopeful. We decided to let Jack tell Edwina on his own, that way he could break it to her gently, and if she behaved badly, then at least I didn’t have to witness it and she could get the excesses of her reaction out in a private setting, rather than explode in public.

Jack came over that night with a grim smile on his face.

“How did it go?” I asked after quickly kissing him hello.

“Better than expected, but not great.” He sighed and flopped onto the couch. He ran both his hands through his hair, tugging the strands, which was a sure sign he was upset.

“How did she take it?” I asked carefully, sitting down next to him.

“Well, when I said I had asked you to marry me, she started suggesting alternatives. Like Caroline. And Sarah, the daughter of a friend of hers. When I reminded her that Sarah was gay, she ran through all my ex-girlfriends, pointing out how much more suitable they were. She seemed to have completely forgotten that she hated all of
them
when we were going out.” He tried to laugh, but it came out desiccated.

“Oh.” It wasn’t unexpected, this realization of exactly how unwelcome I was in Edwina’s eyes, but I thought she would have made an effort to make it easier for her son. I knew she didn’t like me, but somehow I thought she might try to hide it, knowing I would be permanent. Strangely, it hurt.

“They’ll come around. It was just a bit of a shock for them. She wants the wedding at the Hall, so if you agree to that, I’m sure you’ll become her favorite person in no time!” he said, trying to foster enthusiasm but watching my face closely as he said it. I smiled wanly, not sure I wanted a big wedding organized by Edwina. Jack looked so unhappy at what should have been a joyful time that I just wanted him to be okay.

“Sure. Whatever it takes,” I said, wrapping my arms around him in a big hug.

Chapter Five

2008

“U
RGH
,” I G
ROANED
as I opened the door. “It can’t be that time already!”

Bats smiled indulgently at me as she stepped through the front door. It has been said that to be truly happy, you must have a house in Markham Square in Chelsea. I’m not sure if that’s true, but it certainly helps. My house was beautiful and gave me endless pleasure. Even when the heating went or the pipes needed replacing, I forgave it and loved it all the more.

“What’s up with you?” She raised an eyebrow at me.

“I have baker’s remorse.” I looked at her dolefully, hoping she would take pity on me and let me out of our run.

“And what’s that?” she asked, eyeing my un-sporty clothes. She was dressed ready for our scheduled jog, unlike me who was still in jeans and an old and comfy T-shirt.