As the weeks here go by they seem to get busier and more varied, and this one is no exception. After Plum shouted about our plans for a village recipe book from the rooftops the recipes flooded in. Judging from the piles mounting up on the kitchen dresser, the book will be fat, not slender. I’m spending every spare minute pushing on with my own speculative book, and Clemmie, Charlie and Ross are all chipping in to choose the bakes that make the final cut on that one.
Sophie loses no time either. Her ‘Be Whole and Happy at Siren House’ is taking place in two weekends’ time and now includes an appearance from Diesel and a session on the benefits of dog ownership. Then she adds a tag line that says ‘featuring Cressy Cupcake’, slaps the word ‘exclusive’ in very large letters across the advert, and triples the price we’d talked about. But she must know her market, because before you can say ‘gravy bones’ thirty places are snapped up. Gravy bones? They’re the most recent doggy treats Ross has brought home, and Diesel’s latest addiction.
As for me being an attraction, so many people have seen me baking now, I’m anythingbutspecial. After Tuesday’s meringue night, we did a cupcake evening for twenty on Thursday, and pulled in a cheesecake demonstration for Sophie’s sister-in-law and her besties on Friday afternoon. And now for our Saturday night special we’re out at a converted boat builder’s shed at Oyster Point belonging to Nell’s friend Caroline.
We’re back to meringues again, there are sixteen people watching, Millie’s in charge of filming, and just to give her something to follow up on last weekend’s super-popular YouTube clip, I may have a little surprise up the sleeve of my red spotty mini-dress. I catch her eye across the kitchen island as I do up my apron, and she sends me a little wave from the whitewashed pillar she’s leaning against.
Sometimes when the internet followers are involved enough to shout for something really loudly it’s only fair to deliver it, but if they’re urging me to get my own back on Ross it has to be spontaneous rather than staged. But I will admit I tiptoed into his room earlier and brought along one of his clean T-shirts – just in case.
As the audience take their seats around the kitchen the routine is comfortingly familiar. Razorlite are singing ‘I Can’t Stop This Feeling I’ve Got’ in the background, Nell’s topping up the glasses, Plum’s delivering mini meringues to everyone, and I’m tapping the toe of my pink Converse on the spotty plastic tablecloth under my feet – another precaution just in case I get my chance to take my revenge on Ross.
I clear my throat and smile around at the faces. ‘Lovely to see you all here in Caroline’s stunning kitchen. I’m Cressy Cupcake, sharing the baking love, and I’m about to fill you up with more meringues and cream than you’ll ever have eaten in your lives.’ As everyone claps I do a flourish with my hand. ‘And this is my lovely assistant and right-hand man, Ross.’
Obviously I’m being ironic in every sense. And don’t ask me how he came to get in on the introductions. I mean, notthatlong ago he wasn’t even on the team. And it’s not as if Sophie, Nell or Plum get their own shout-outs. I can only think it’s because whenever we’re starting he stands so close to wherever I am it would feel rude not to include him. Plus, he invariably makes himself indispensable within the first three seconds, so it saves making a big thing about who he is then.
And that’s the other surprise about Ross, the-current-St-Aidan-version. Whenever he popped up in my head over the years, there was always a huge ‘not there when I needed him’ caption slapped across him that pretty much obliterated the rest. Which is why it’s particularly funny to find him so ever-present now, to the point that I’m practically falling over him.
His voice is low. ‘Those are your third-best Converse, what happened to your second-best ones?’
Damn. Only Ross would have been sharp enough to spot I’ve downgraded my shoes in case of spillage, so I hiss in his ear. ‘Last-minute accident with the bun mix.’ I think I got away with that. Then I pick up my first egg from the tray and wave it in the air. ‘Tradition is, I always crack the first egg on Ross’s head so he remembers who’s boss in the kitchen.’
‘What?’
I watch Ross’s eyes go wide and let out a laugh. ‘Got you there, Cakeface.’ Then I take in the delighted grins of anticipation around the kitchen. ‘Only joking. For meringues we only need the white of the egg, so first I’ll show you how to separate the yolks from the whites.’
I whizz on with the now familiar routine. The more of this performing I do, the more I get a feel for the audiences, and I can instinctively tell that this one is relaxed and up for fun. And when Nell and I privately ran the question of mess past Caroline earlier she assured us her polished concrete floor is indestructible. An opportunity like this may never come up again, so I need to screw up my courage and go for it.
I’m carrying on my chat. ‘So I’m whisking the egg whites for approximately ten minutes or until the mixture is stiff enough to stay in the bowl when it’s tipped upside down.’ If I’m going to call a halt to the whisking while the mixture is still slippery I need to stop now so I flick the mixer off, and smile at the audience. ‘As some of you may know, Ross accidentally tipped runny egg on my head last weekend when he picked up the wrong bowl.’
There are ripples of laughter around the table, and I pause while people get their phones out and show the ones who haven’t already seen. At one time this would have thrown me off my stride but I’m much more used to making the most of these moments now. When I think back to how much it took for me to go out there in front of a handful of people to mix icing sugar with water that first time at Kittiwake Court, it’s as if I’m a completely different person now. And it’s not just that I care less about how impeccable my hair is; somehow I’ve found an ease and a confidence I’ve never had before. What’s more, I love the banter and the to-ing and fro-ing; where the unpredictability and the unknown used to be terrifying, now it’s exciting. And the thrill at the end of a successful night gives me the kind of rush I’m going to miss when I don’t get it any more.
I tilt the mixer beaters to free the bowl, then pick it up and turn to Ross. ‘Are you up for me to do the stiffness test over your head this time?’
He rolls his eyes, playing to the crowd. ‘I’m living dangerously here, but as you’re about to see, this moment is truly gravity-defying.’
Someone at the front calls out. ‘Watch out, mate, it could be payback time!’
And seeing as they’ve guessed what I’m up to, I’m onto plan B – abandon mission. ‘In which case, maybe I’ll beat it a couple of minutes longer, just to make sure.’
Ross laughs and whips the bowl out of my hands. ‘Leave this to me, I’ve got this.’
I let out a shot of protest. ‘No, Ross, really, wait…’ I’ve totally lost my nerve on this, but and before I can stop him he whooshes the bowl straight up in the air and over his head.
This time the egg white is almost solid but as the whole mass slides slowly out of the bowl to land on his hair and drop onto his shoulders he lets out a cry. ‘Jeez, Bertie! What the hell happened to zero gravity?’
‘It wasn’t ready, Ross,you weren’t meant to grab it!’
It wasn’t premeditated but the women in the room are whooping with delight anyway. ‘Nice one, Cressy!’
I grab a tea towel and push it towards Ross, then pull out his clean T-shirt with a flourish. ‘Lucky I brought you a change of clothes. You’d better take a clean apron too.’
There’s a lesson to be learned here; if you’re going to tip egg white over yourself, runny egg needs much more clearing up. Where last weekend it took me the best part of an hour to sort myself out, a couple of swipes of the towel and Ross is already clean enough to be pulling off his shirt.
I turn to the audience. ‘Anyonenotwanting a view of one of the best six-packs in St Aidan, look away now.’ Then, just to make sure this is the end of it, I turn to Ross. ‘We’re one-all now. How about we call a truce so we don’t waste any more eggs?’
He’s facing me, flexing disgustingly tanned shoulder muscles. ‘Okay, no more egg throwing.’ As his lips twist into a grin there’s a glint in his eye. ‘In future we’ll go head to head with buns on strings – starting tonight!’
It’s the last thing I’d be up for in an ideal world, especially face to face over the same bun, which is the rule Nell’s singles club play by, but I’m not going to back down now. ‘If the man wants cupcake wars he can have them –if he’s brave enough!’I pause to let the reaction ripple around the island unit, then I take a breath and reboot. ‘If we’re going to make it home before dawn I need to get whisking!’
