Bake for 45–50 minutes until a thin skewer inserted into the centre of the cake comes out clean.
While the cake is cooling in its tin, mix together the juice of 1 1/2 lemons and 85g of caster sugar to make the drizzle.
Spanish lemons are particularly good for this!
Prick the warm cake all over with a fork, then pour over the drizzle – the juice will sink into the holes and the sugar will form a lovely, crisp topping.
Leave in the tin until completely cool, then remove and serve.
Don’t wait to have a slice – it will be eaten up in double quick time!
Chapter Eighteen
VANESSA
Vanessa had a day off from the bakery, and she was determined to see some of Barcelona beyond Chocolate Street. The Sagrada Familia was probably the most obvious attraction to visit, but Vanessa figured there had to be a good reason for that.
By now her body was used to waking up at the crack of dawn, so she took advantage of the early hour and walked through the streets. They were both cool and quiet, and she felt like the city was hers. As she walked she thought about the shade of dark red Joey had turned when she and Pedro had arrived at the bar a few days earlier. It was obvious that Pedro and Dani hadn’t told Joey she was coming, and she wondered why. But more than that, she wondered why Joey had responded in that way. Was she angry? Nervous? Shocked?
She pondered the issue as she zigzagged her way through the streets, shops still shuttered. Joey had been perfectly friendly the following morning in the bakery. She wondered if it something to do with balancing her work andher personal life. She knew some people didn’t like to mix business with pleasure. But somehow that didn’t fit with the kind of lives Joey and Dani seemed to lead.
The sun’s rays warmed her skin as she tried to resolve the conundrum that was her neighbour and baking teacher. She’d learned more in the last few days about baking than she could remember learning about anything in such a short time. Joey had an obvious love for the craft, and it was absolutely communicated in her teaching, and the bakes she made. Her eyes would sparkle as she pulled out a new batch from the oven and told Vanessa about it. Vanessa couldn’t help wondering whether there might ever have been a person who made her eyes sparkle like that.
The Basilica de la Sagrada de Familia towered over the densely built-up area of Barcelona, parkland on either side of it. Crowds were slowly beginning to form around a towering structure that seemed almost organic. Vanessa gazed up at the spires, which looked as though they had been handcrafted. It was unlike any other church she’d seen, and gave the impression that it had been formed in wet sand that had flowed down the sides. At the top of each pinnacle were colourful designs and shiny tiles that sparkled and shone in the sun. Vanessa’s neck ached as she gazed up at the detail. She scanned down the building, spotting new things to admire as she went. There were figures that looked as though they’d been carved into the brickwork inside arched openings with jagged edges. She’d read that it was a gothic building, but this was the most gothic place she’d ever seen.
If the view outside was awe-inspiring, Vanessa wasn’t prepared for the riot of colour inside. Towering on every side were stained glass windows, the sun casting colourful shards of light through the building and striking the myriadpillars that had been designed to look like the branches of trees. She reached for her phone to snap some pictures, but then replaced it in her pocket. There was no way she could do justice to such a beautiful place on a screen.
Vanessa took a seat in a pool of orange-red light. She wasn’t religious, but she could see why those who believed could take meaning from a space like this. The beauty said more than any holy book could, without any words. She wondered whether her gran had ever visited here as a child. She could only imagine how overwhelming it might have been for a young Maria. How inspiring. And what about Sophia, Vanessa’s great grandmother? Had she come here? Had she celebrated Sant Joan there? Had she baked the Coca de Sant Joan? Her head spun with the thoughts of a past that seemed unknowable, unreachable.
She emerged into the sunshine having explored the church thoroughly. She was in need of food and a rest, so she made her way to a nearby cafe. She picked out a Magdalena limon to have with her coffee. It looked much like a French madeleine, but was coated with lemon icing. This would put her lemon drizzle cake to shame, she was sure of it.
Now the sun was fully risen, she sat in the shade outside the cafe. The area was thronging with tourists, and it was an ideal spot to take a moment and do some people-watching. She bit into the Magdalena. The icing was beautifully tart, and inside were pieces of candied lemon peel. The sponge was perfectly light. She closed her eyes and sighed. This was heaven. She took a sip of coffee and sent up a silent prayer of thanks to her gran for her encouragement. This was exactly what she needed.
Vanessa took out her dark red notebook and wrote notes on the Magdalena, its structure, its flavour. She sketched itsshape while she picked up the last crumbs on the plate with a finger. This was definitely a recipe she would look for in her gran’s book. Maybe Joey knew it, too? She hadn’t seen them in Carmen’s bakery. She could ask. She felt a warmth in her heart at the prospect of seeing Joey again.
By the time the full heat of the day arrived, she was back in her apartment, fully on board with the Spanish custom of having a siesta. She sat on her bed, propped up with pillows, and sketched the cafe she would open in Birmingham, listing the baked goods she would sell and drawing the people queueing to get in. With the whirl of lemon madeleine recipes and Gaudi designs in her head, she soon fell asleep.
Chapter Nineteen
JOEY
Joey stomped through the streets of old Barcelona, sweat pouring down her face, moving faster than usual to get to the ingredient supplier. Carmen had sent her out to stock up at the last minute, ready for the following day.
Joey’s head was bowed, her lips pursed and her brow furrowed.
Why did he do this? How could he do this now?
She felt her phone, burning a hole in her pocket, but she didn’t take it out.
Arriving at the wholesaler, she tersely listed what she needed and paid for it, barely sparing the usual niceties for the older man behind the counter. Instead she just offered a quick goodbye before heading back out into the heat.
Normally she’d have taken her time. Summer in Barcelona wasn’t the time to hurry anywhere. She’d learnt that a long time ago. But today, her pace wasn’t about getting anywhere. Her fists clenched around the handles of the bags she carried, her muscles aching with the weight,but she refused to stop or take a break. Somehow this made her anger easier to bear. For the time being, at least.
She reached the bakery, put away the ingredients, and left with the briefest of goodbyes to Carmen. She needed to get away from people. People were not helpful to her right now. People were unreliable. They hurt you, they made things difficult.
She raced up to her apartment and slammed the door violently, so violently that a flake of paint floated down to the floor from the doorframe. She swore.
Why had he chosen now to get in touch? Why now, for the second time in one week?
