Jen’s right behind her. ‘And you will bring your mixer with you next time, Cressy? We can’t wait to watch you make buttercream in person.’
Maybe this is the way in St Aidan. You can’t fight it, you simply have to go with it. Which might be fine for kids icing cupcakes. But it certainly doesn’t extend to Ross Bradbury making moves on my flat.
8
At Clemmie’s flat
Waaaaahhh – that’s all
Saturday
My afternoon icing buns with the residents at Kittiwake Court leaves me feeling more like I’ve been trampled by a large herd of heavy animals than rubbing shoulders with octogenarians. My news is that after another chat with Martha I’ve decided to press on with the book while I have time and an agent. And if she can’t place it when it’s done – I’ll self-publish. So I’m pushing straight on with recipe selecting, and I have a week – maybe two – to come up with ideas for making cash before my finances hit rock bottom.
If I want to make progress I can’t be out in the garden or in view on the balcony where I might get ambushed. So for the last couple of days I’ve thrown the living-room doors open and worked sitting on the floor. With the late spring sunshine spilling in from outside I’m in the perfect position to catch the diamond glints off the sky-blue sea through the balcony balustrade.
So far I’ve been baking items as they popped into my head, but in an effort to be methodical rather than random I’ve decided to go through my blog and the YouTube clips. But it turns out to be a bigger job than I imagined; by the evening of the second day I’m nowhere near finished.
As I watch the sun sinking towards the horizon I give Diesel a nudge where he’s lying against my knee. ‘I feel a lot like Alice when she fell down the rabbit hole.’ I’ve seriously underestimated how many pieces I’ve produced over the years, which is wonderful in one way, but makes it harder to sort.
The way Diesel opens one eye then closes it again, he’s telling me that unless there’s food or an outing coming his way he’s not about to engage. It’s funny because a few days ago I had no idea at all what Diesel was thinking because I hadn’t quite tuned in. But if I’m getting to the cupcakes before he does, we’ve definitely crossed a bridge in our relationship. If we carry on like this, I’ll soon be the one deciding the routes we take on our walks too.
When I first arrived I was completely up for being pulled around the bay. But with Ross Bradbury breathing down my neck it would be useful to look like I’m in control, even if I’m not. I get that Diesel’s being more of handful than normal if he’s missing Charlie and Clemmie. But what the hell does Ross think he can add that I’m not doing already?
And if I sound antsy, that’s because I am! It’s not only that the man is irritating beyond belief; I’m also cross with myself. I can excuse my teenage incarnation for panting with excitement whenever he turned up because that’s just what happens when you’re a hormone-charged fourteen-year-old. Obviously I cringe that I was ever sad enough to stick my chest out while wearing teensy crop-tops to try to make him notice my boobs, or use actual black felt tip trying to get eyes as sooty as Avril Lavigne’s.
But what I can’t excuse is getting that same rush now. When Iknowthe inside in no way matches up to the sizzling-hot exterior, it makes no sense at all for my tummy to still be turning somersaults whenever I catch sight of him. And the more I think about the way Ross is manipulating Charlie into letting him stay at the flat, the more appalled I am. I know from experience that Ross is an emotional coward; but somehow it’s shocking all over again to find he’s a self-seeking opportunist too.
Rant over, and back to my life looking after the animals. As for Pancake, she’s adoring me giving her a daily brush, and up until today she’s been devouring her gourmet fish dishes faster than I could put them out. Apart for this morning, that is. When I deliver her Taste of the Sea with crab a few minutes from now, I know she’s going to get all purry and try to devour it before I get the pack open, because she loves that flavour so much she even knows the name.
I get up to call her through. ‘Panpan, it’s dinner time, you’re having cr-a-a-a-a-a-b…’
Instead of the patter of kitty paws and those bright blue eyes instantly peeping round the door to the hall, Diesel sidles towards me but there’s no other movement. As I go through to the bedroom to see where Pancake has got to, I notice the litter tray hasn’t been used since this morning either.
‘Hey, Mrs Lazy, you can’t stay on your cashmereallday.’ I lean across the pillow and give her ear a tickle. She barely stirs and it takes a few moments before she blinks at me. As she drops her head back onto the cardi there’s an uneasy twang in my chest.
‘Come to Aunty Cressy.’ I ease her off the bed, and as her weight sinks onto my waist it’s like a hot water bottle bursting. I let out a shriek as tepid liquid runs down my legs. ‘Panpan, you’re peeing!!!’ I worked as a mother’s help so it’s not the wee itself that’s alarming. But she shouldn’t be as floppy as she is unless she’s ill. And she never wets out of the litter tray.
I snatch a towel, then take her through to the kitchen and start leafing through Clemmie’s manual.
I sink onto a bright blue chair and let out a groan. ‘You can’t be ill, Pancake, because I don’t know what to do.’ Then my moan deepens. ‘Oh my,what if she dies?’
The St Aidan vets’ phone number is there in large font, and somehow I think it’s best to find out what we’re dealing with here before worrying Charlie and Clemmie. There’s a different number for emergencies but it’s for an out-of-hours vet in Penzance half an hour away.
As I take my phone out of my pocket I can see it’s already after eight. And then I catch sight of the damned poster Ross gave me, still folded under a pile of post. I peel back the corner and sure enough there’s a line of neat numbers in black marker next to his name. And he’s also printed:
Any worries, any time, I’ll be happy to help.
Except he wasn’t exactly happy to help when I called all those years ago, was he? It’s a fleeting thought and now’s not the time. He’s the last guy in the world I’d want to ring. But he’s only five minutes away. And I’m ringing for Pancake and Charlie and Clemmie, not me.
I’ve pressed call before it hits me I have no idea what to say if he picks up. But one ring later he does.
‘Ross Bradbury?’
I’m floundering. ‘It’s Cressy, there’s something wrong with Pancake…’
‘I’ll come straight over.’
My gulp is so huge, I almost swallow the phone. ‘Actually, we’ll come to you.’
