As I look at the faces around the table the next afternoon, I can already see they have. I’m also aware that my voice is wobbling with nerves in a way it never does on the film clips, which is why I’ve minimised the risk by keeping this simple. I’ve brought along three dozen small sponge buns I baked this morning, and now the icing sugar is rising in a cloud as I pour water into the bowl in front of me and start to stir to make the glacé icing.
This is as hard as it gets, so there’s no reason for me to have quite so many flutters in my tummy. But as it’s a live performance with no possibility of retakes, and thanks to me reliving the horrors of those few days baking at the TV studio, I woke up worrying at four and didn’t go back to sleep again. At least the head-start meant I had time for my full hair-washing and make-up routine; it’s just a shame I’ve had to tie my hair back on the one day it’s really shiny and smooth.
I know flipping my hair about is one of my accidental signature moves on YouTube, butthosecakes aren’t going to get eaten by the public. Given the minefield of health and safety these days, we’re probably lucky we aren’t wrapped up in hairnets here today. As it is, all Jen suggested apart from my ponytail was plastic aprons for the residents.
Pam shifts in her wheelchair, and runs her finger over the crinkly edge of her blue spotty bun case. ‘They didn’t always make cases this fancy! Back in the sixties we only had two choices: white or white with flowers.’
Kathleen picks hers up and sighs. ‘When I think of how many of these I’ve made in my time… My Den used to have them every day in his snap box.’
Joanie looks at hers. ‘When our kids were small it wasn’t a birthday party if you didn’t have fairy cakes. With orange squash to go with them, and paper straws that always went soggy.’
I smile because it’s funny how one small cake can bring so many memories flooding back, and I may as well share mine too. ‘My mum hung ours off strings on her Sheila Maid drying rack and we used to eat them with our hands tied behind our backs at Halloween.’
Joanie nudges Pam. ‘I bet that was a sticky business.’
‘But so worth it.’ I grin at her. ‘You can’t beat the icing and sponge combination.’
Simple iced buns are extra special for me because these were the first thing Charlie and I ever made together, the summer he taught me to bake. Family legend has it that our mum refused to let Charlie leave home until he was fully house-trained, although we tease her that she thought a guy who could cook, bake and clean like a dream would get better girlfriends. By the time she got to her sixth child, she was understandably flagging, so I made it all the way to the age of twenty before Charlie decided to put that right himself.
Jen’s listening in further down the room, where Nell is taking Diesel round to the people who aren’t joining in with me. She calls to us. ‘Buns on strings – I’ll put that in my diary for October.’
After Faye died Charlie and Diesel took refuge at home with our mum and dad, and I was there too, on my summer break from uni, working as a mother’s help. Every evening after work we’d pull on our pinnies and roll up our sleeves. It wasn’t just about the therapy of doing something practical to take his mind off the agony he was going through. All the delicious cakes we cooked had to have helped too.
You can’t ever mend fully after a loss as huge as Charlie’s. By the end of the summer he was in good enough shape to venture down to Cornwall, just him and Diesel. And when I went back to my last year at uni I was able to cook, even though at the time I had no idea how much I’d be using it a few years later.
As I always say in my videos, never underestimate the power of sugar! Just stirring now, watching the shiny icing run slowly off the spoon and back into the bowl, I feel more relaxed and in control of my life, even if I’m not.
Pam nudges Roger, who’s sitting next to her. ‘Looking forward to having a try?’
Roger looks as doubtful as I feel. ‘I’m afraid cooking was Cynthia’s department, not mine.’
Jen raises an eyebrow. ‘You’ve built power stations, Roger, you can do this.’
I smile at Roger. ‘I’ll come and show you. All we do is spread the icing on the top of the cake.’ On the upside, at least we’re not dealing with Walter and his wisecracks today. I don’t know where he is, but I’m thanking my lucky stars he’s not at our table.
Joanie holds up a finger. ‘But that icing’s white!’
I smile. ‘White icing with bright coloured hundreds and thousands, that’s what we always had at home.’
Joanie’s shaking her head. ‘Oh, no! Mine always had pink icing.’
Kathleen frowns. ‘And my Den only liked yellow. Mine won’t feel right if they’re not yellow.’
I drag in a breath and count to ten. I may as well ask. ‘How about anyone else?’
Pam gives a little shrug. ‘Duck-egg blue is my favourite. I made them every Sports Day, they went with the girls’ PE shirts.’
Ian coughs next to Roger. ‘I support Exeter City, they play in red and white stripes.’
Oh my days. Jen’s wading straight in to help. ‘We’ve all enjoyed a trip down Memory Lane, but this is your activity, Cressy. It’s fine to stick with white for today.’
I’m nodding in relief and agreement when I see Kathleen’s expression. It reminds me of Diesel’s when he wants an extra biscuit and I say no. And what’s worse, I crackevery time. And not that I’m comparing Kathleen to Diesel, but a second later I’m looking at Jen. ‘If you’ve got some extra bowls and food colouring, I’ve brought enough icing sugar.’ It’s my one and only time here, I might as well go for broke. ‘Let’s have pink, yellow, white and blue too.’
Twenty minutes later, as I beat the icing in the fourth bowl to a lovely pale turquoise and push it into the centre of the table, I’m hoping three varieties of hundreds and thousands will be enough to hit the spot. But there’s no time to worry about that as everyone’s spoons hit the bowls together. Pam, Joanie and Madge are making a meticulous job, but some of the others need more help. There’s icing flying everywhere but I’m too stressed running from person to person to think about the mess.
It’s only as I stand up to brush off a splat of icing that landed on my cheek that I take in that we’ve actually got a second audience. This one’s resting his shoulder on the wall, right next to where Walter is sitting by the door to Ocean Boulevard, and the shadows playing on his stubble make him look drawn and distant. For all I know, he’s probably day-dreaming about how he’s going to take over Clemmie’s living room. And damn that I whip my eyes away too late, because he catches my gaze and comes to life.
‘This is nothing like YouTube, Cressy – that table looks more like one of Plum’s seascapes.’
