The Mix-Up by Holly McCulloch

CHAPTER 4

Today is a new day, but I’m heartbroken to admit that even after two consecutive nights of sticking to my skincare regime, my skin looks neither refreshed nor youthful. Instead, I have broken out into spots. This is not the type of youth I was envisioning. They are all around my chin, with some even freckling down my neck. I knew I should have just stuck with using the same face wash I have been using for the last fifteen years instead of treating myself to something new. If this isn’t proof that I shouldn’t have nice things, I don’t know what is.

In an effort to improve the trajectory of my day, I’ve put on my best apron, thankful that it’s clean. It was specially made for me and has the perfect number and size of pockets to house an array of tools, including but not limited to: angled palette knives, my favourite mixing fork with its tines bent and worn from overuse, scrapers of various sizes, a mini rolling pin and, of course, my phone, which is currently ringing.

I reach in to grab it, almost drop it whilst getting it out, and answer.

‘Hello?’

‘It’s me. I’m outside. I think.’ I can hear scepticism. ‘I don’t want to knock in case I’m at the wrong door.’

I smile. It’s Mika, a very stylish wedding planner. She quit her corporate job after having a great time planning her own wedding, and unlike many others who do the same (only to realize that half the fun was planning your own dream, not someone else’s), Mika has done very well in the wedding world. She knows everybody, she records a successful podcast, her branding is on point and she has her pick of clients.

I was instantly drawn to her; everyone is. I knew as soon as I met her that I would like her, which is rare as I like very few people. Also, she is exactly the kind of wedding planner I have been trying to work with for years. She plans weddings for really interesting couples. Couples who want something a bit different. Couples who appreciate the artistry. In a world where more and more people think they can make their own wedding cake, it is pure business sense to only make spectacular cakes. But spectacular cakes take time, and time is money. At the moment, I have one cake with her in a few weeks’ time that came to me by pure chance (and my own social media advertising), but I want more. I need more. I nearly jumped for joy when the couple told me they had hired Mika to help with their wedding.

I go to open the door and am met with a rainbow in human form. Mika is wearing a bright pink suit and a top that has some kind of design on it. I think maybe it’s naked women, but I don’t want to highlight my ignorance by asking; I fear that she will think I am uncultured.

She half hugs me as she glides in. ‘I am so glad that I have the right place otherwise I would have no idea where to go. And my phone is about to die.’ She takes a very small inhale before talking some more. ‘I can’t believe you get to work here. What a dream! Can I …?’ She looks at my phone charger, and only waits for the slightest of nods from me before she plugs her phone in.

Once her phone is safe from certain death, she turns around, and slowly takes in her surroundings.

‘This is so nice. Who knew all this was hiding behind that door?’

‘Thanks.’ I think. ‘Can I get you something to drink? Tea? Coffee?’ I swing my arms slightly as I say this.

‘Tea would be great, thank you.’

I head towards the kitchen part of the room, the area that houses all the actual baking equipment, and also, very importantly, the kettle.

‘English breakfast OK?’

She gives me a look as she takes off her jacket and hangs it on the back of a chair. ‘Breakfast is fine, but do you have any peppermint? Or green tea?’

I should have known she would be a green tea drinker. Luckily, I bought some during a health kick a few months ago. I reach for it at the back of the cupboard, trying to minimize the effort involved. Let’s hope tea doesn’t go off.

I boil the kettle and pick out my favourite almost-matching-but-stylishly-not mugs. I also get out the plate of cake tasters I had baked in the early hours of this morning. An issue with being a cake baker is that people always assume that you have cake on you. And if you don’t, it’s like you are a faker. A fake baker.

She looks between me and the cake. ‘You are so naughty. These look delicious.’ They also look identically sized. I was extra fastidious in the measuring and cutting of my sponges this time.

Back at the (now boiled) kettle, I ask, ‘Shall I leave your teabag in?’

‘Oh yes, please.’

I pour in the boiling water and wish I had timed my inhale better. Green tea smells disturbingly like fish. This can’t be right; it must be out of date. Surely nothing that smells this bad is meant to be ingested? Without a suitable alternative, I take it over to Mika, teabag still in. It even looks like pond water.

‘I hope this is OK.’ I can’t keep the scepticism out of my voice. ‘If you want to change your mind and have a different drink, let me know.’

She blows on it to cool it down and takes a tester sip. She closes her eyes like it actually tastes nice.

‘Mmm. Delicious, thank you.’

Fetching my own plebeian cup of tea, I sit down.

‘Thank you so much for coming.’

At this she shoos me down.

‘Don’t be silly. I am so happy that we were able to find a time to meet up. I love what you are doing with your cakes. You know that they are amazing, right?’

I am still learning to take a compliment and have to stop myself from actively avoiding them. But if I can remove the fact that I think she is wrong, her praise makes me glow. Discounting her tea preference, she has superb taste. Every wedding she plans makes a splash. It gets coverage; it encourages couples to be more daring, to push the boundaries, to leave their guests feeling inspired and alive.

‘Thank you. It does feel good when a look or idea comes together.’

‘And I saw that you had some taster sessions the other day. I think one of the couples you saw was mine.’ Oh god, please, please tell me that they liked me.

I try to hide my burning desire to know in a mouthful of sponge, so pipe out a quick, ‘Oh really, who?’ before faux nonchalantly taking a bite.

‘Frankie and Josh?’

I swallow, more quickly than my body is prepared for. It takes longer than usual for the cake to go down.

‘Oh I loved them!’ And I did, they were great. ‘Although …’

Mika looks at me through her enhanced eyelashes. ‘Did her friend come with her?’

‘Yes.’ I was once told that the quickest way to bond with someone is to figure out who you both hate. I plan on testing out this theory. ‘I didn’t like her.’ Mika cackles and I relax enough to share a genuine smile before continuing. ‘I kept asking questions about the wedding, Frankie and Josh’s wedding, but she kept answering with details about her own. I wasn’t sure who I should be directing my questions towards.’

‘Oh I know! I think she is just along for the ride.’ Mika sits forward, animated. ‘Did she take notes?’

I nod. ‘Yes! And she was aggressively underlining things. It made me nervous. I didn’t know if it was a good sign or bad.’

‘No, neither do I. She did the same with me. I have a call with them this afternoon. “Them” meaning Frankie and Josh, hopefully just them at least. I’ll ask them how the meeting went. But I’m sure that they loved your cake. How could they not?’

She takes another bite.

‘This really is delicious.’ I’m happy to see that she has pretty much devoured the whole slice. I knew I would like her. ‘It tastes like a lamington.’

‘Good, it should.’ With Australia now taking over parts of London, it seemed like a good flavour to feature.

She eats the final bite and sighs. It’s a good sigh. An eyes-closed sigh. I let her enjoy the final moments of cake in peace. Eventually she pushes the plate away and puts down her fork.

‘That was so restorative, thank you.’ She wipes the corners of her mouth. ‘Now, on to business.’

Her demeanour changes, and I instantly feel the need to sit up straighter.

An hour and a half later, Mika has briefed me on four upcoming weddings that she wants me to design cakes for. I doubt that she will use me for all four – she is talking to other cake designers too – but if I can win even one, it would be great for me. One might lead to more.

Nan was always more of a local baker. Her designs were beautiful, but traditional. And cakes, along with many other things, have evolved a lot over the last few years. It has been an emotional journey, changing the business that she built, but I don’t think she would be upset with the changes I have made. I think she might even be a bit proud.

‘That’s enough talk about cakes.’ She closes her calendar, which is one of those impressively coordinated mini binders. I noted with fear that her handwriting stayed extremely neat throughout all the notetaking, but luckily I saw no signs of aggressive underlining. ‘Are you going to the breakfast meeting next Thursday?’

Every month a group of wedding suppliers meet up over expensive eggs and cold toast to talk about burning questions in the community. Although attendees change every month, it’s always the same story – a room full of people who need a monthly reminder on why they work by themselves. It’s all the worst parts of school combined.

I decide to sit on the fence. ‘I’m not sure I can make it.’ I should go. I know I should go. This is how you get business. But I just hate it so much. All the faux-friendly competition. All the smiling. All the one-upping.

‘You should come. I’ll be there.’ She touches my arm, and I instantly cave in.

‘OK, I’ll make sure I’m there.’ I even nod a bit.

‘And you have to come to my birthday party. It’s tomorrow night.’

Tomorrow night is a Friday. I should already have plans, but obviously I don’t. Not unless you count a restorative face mask (that will hopefully get rid of my spots) and glass of wine.

‘Oh, that’s kind, but I can’t.’ Even I know this sounds like a weak excuse, if you can call it that. I have provided no reasoning. I just like to do the things I normally do. But I know she knows I am lying. One more look at her face, and I spill the truth. ‘I won’t know anyone there.’

She hits me playfully on the shoulder, possibly a little harder than I would have liked, but she isn’t the kind of person to do things by halves. ‘Don’t be silly. I’ll introduce you to some people. I am really good at introducing people. It’s probably my greatest skill. I know who will get on and who won’t. Besides, I throw a really good party.’ She raises her eyebrows at me.

I am sure she does.