The Mix-Up by Holly McCulloch

CHAPTER 35

‘Oh shit, look who’s coming.’

I try to look subtly over my shoulder. When Bobbie texted me late last night begging me to come to today’s supplier breakfast, I stupidly agreed. She needed the back-up and part of me thought it would be a good distraction. It’s Monday, so it should be my day off, but I’ve also been lying in bed and festering for five days. Plus, my defences were down. My body has been weakened by poor diet and stress. And now, being here feels more like punishment. It’s a punishment I deserve.

Louise, the doughnutter/baker of Chris’s wedding cake, is coming towards us.

She’s wearing a boiler suit, and yet she still has some shape. I don’t know how she’s managed it. I tried a boiler suit on once. Instead of looking like a fashion choice, I looked like I was about to fix some pipes.

But this time, although I wouldn’t go so far as to say I’m glad to see her, I need to thank her in person for taking his cake off my hands. He sent me a one-line reply to my last email, the email where I told him that Louise would be making his cake, not me. I read it when I was in my cocoon. I did not write back. And so this conversation is the last piece of Chris-related admin, or Chris-related anything, that I have to do. Ever. The thought, as epic as it might have been at one time, has very little impact on me. It is dwarfed by other feelings.

‘Louise!’ I purposefully call her over. Bobbie gives me a death stare, a death stare that asks me if I have gone mad? Answer: probably yes.

She slightly changes course and comes over. She almost looks happy to see us. ‘Paige.’ She nods. ‘Bobbie.’ She nods again. ‘How have you guys been?’

I totally ignore her question, partly because the answer isn’t one that many people want to hear, but also because I want to get this conversation over with. Finally.

‘I just wanted to say thanks for taking that cake off my hands.’ I don’t share any history. It’s in the past.

She rolls her eyes. ‘The money is great, but he’s a bit of a prick, isn’t he?’

Surprising myself more than anyone, a laugh escapes. ‘Yes. That he is.’

We smile at each other and for once it does feel like a supportive group.

Louise takes a sip of her drink. It looks suspiciously like a Bloody Mary. I think this makes me an influencer. She leans in, breaching social norms on personal space, ‘But thank you for sending the work my way. Between you and me, I’m not so sure doughnuts are as popular as they need to be.’ She takes another sip before our group is once again breached. She almost spills some tomato juice down herself when she sees who’s approaching. ‘Jethro!’ It makes sense that Jethro and Louise are friends. They are both extremely trendy. ‘How was India?’

I imagine it is too soon to know if his wife is pregnant or not, and I also imagine it is too private a question to ask in public.

‘Wonderful, thank you. Very … busy.’ He then turns to me. ‘You’ve been busy too, I see?’

My mind immediately goes to my boob, and as a natural instinct, so does my hand. ‘How—’

‘I have to say, it is a beautiful cake. Quite the publicity it’s having, isn’t it?’

‘Oh.’ I hope the boob grope was relatively subtle. I put my hand down. ‘It is?’ This comes out as a question.

Jethro looks at me like I am speaking a different language. ‘Yes, it is. The cake was featured on The Wedding Trend. You must have seen it. Mika was the planner. Juno Lotte was the bride. The cake was white, and all, I don’t know … ruffley. You made it. You know what it looks like.’ He pauses, briefly. ‘Haven’t you looked at your phone recently?’

Actually I haven’t, except for the necessities.

‘You made the cake for Juno Lotte?’ This comes from Bobbie who is now shoving her phone in my face, a picture of my cake on the screen.

‘Yep. That’s my cake.’ Although I don’t know who Juno Lotte is. Her name must be made up though.

‘Juno Lotte? As in the Juno Lotte, the organizing and cleaning consultant?’ Louise has stepped even closer to me now so she can see Bobbie’s phone.

I nod, in the hopes it was this Juno that my cake was for.

‘God, I love her.’ Bobbie closes her eyes in ecstasy. ‘Her tips on how to rearrange my wardrobe revolutionized my life. I swear it’s a form of meditation.’ I look at Bobbie. I don’t recognize this person. ‘Why didn’t you tell me?’

‘I didn’t know. They were using fake names.’ And even if they weren’t, I wouldn’t have known that I had something to tell. Although the NDA makes a little more sense now.

‘Well, now everybody knows.’ As Jethro takes a sip of water, he points at me. I imagine this looks more suave with whisky. ‘This will be great for you, I’d imagine.’

I don’t know how to respond, so I don’t. I just smile, awkwardly. Bobbie is also looking at her phone.

‘Cripes, mate. I didn’t know you could be so romantic.’

I try to look over her shoulder. ‘What do you mean?’

‘This …’ She angles her phone a little more towards me as I turn to her, and slightly away from Jethro and Louise. They don’t seem offended. They seem relieved that they no longer have to pretend to be happy for me. She starts to read out loud sections of what I wrote for Mika. It’s more romantic than I remember it being, but I sent it off pretty quickly. When I finally finished writing it, I didn’t actually read it back. I couldn’t bring myself to. She starts to read. ‘“I find inspiration in a whole load of different places, but that is a lot like love, I think. The meaning of love is different for everybody, but for me, love is letting yourself dwell in the possibility of what could be, and that is what I wanted to portray in this cake – the magic of possibility, and the possibility of love. Love isn’t flashy; it is constant, subtle, simple and complicated. It enhances what already exists. It lets the light shine through, but is made deeper by the dark.”’ Bobbie pauses, contemplating, and then exhales dramatically. ‘Bloody hell mate. Where did that come from?’

I don’t say anything. I don’t know what to say.

‘Ah, it’s fine. We’re all cynics until we’re not.’ She puts her phone away. ‘Was it the guy you were talking about last time I saw you?’ Luckily, she doesn’t require a response. ‘Of course it was.’ She waves her hand in front of my eyes. ‘I can see it all over your face.’ She converts the hand wave into a reach for a mini breakfast pastry. ‘You should probably thank him.’

I still remain silent.

‘You look shifty. What’s wrong?’

‘Nothing.’

She’s not buying it.

‘Spill the beans.’

‘There’s not much to say.’ At least there isn’t much that I want to say. ‘It’s just … We were … and now … we … aren’t.’

She looks at me from under her eyelashes. ‘Who broke up with who?’

‘Well, I guess technically I broke up with him.’

‘Did you have a good reason for it?’

‘Yes.’

‘Really?’

My eyes shift from object to object, trying to find something safe to look at, but no matter where I look, I can’t avoid her searching eyes. ‘In my mind, yes.’

‘That’s a no then. And you’re a fucking idiot.’ She angrily eats the rest of her pastry. ‘I don’t choose to be this jaded. If just looking at someone led to all that shit, I’d be tempted to walk down that bloody aisle myself.’