nobody was there. I resisted the urge to strip naked and run around – this always worked better in films and sitcoms than in reality – and baked methodically instead.
Baking was something I’d discovered a talent for and whoever knew it was so therapeutic? All this time I’d been trying yoga and pilates, when really what I’d needed was butter, eggs, flour, sugar and an oven. I mixed together the flour, sugar, baking powder and bicarbonate, whipped up the eggs and melted the chocolate in a glass bowl over low-bubbling water, marvelling as I always did as it dissolved into a puddle of silky brown gloss.
I allowed myself a brief fantasy about licking some from a pair of pert breasts – perhaps Lucy’s? – but then realised that would involve getting chocolate in places I’d rather not. In my experience, sex and food rarely mixed in a fun, clean way, or perhaps I was just a little bit anal. I wondered again about Lucy: was she back from Sydney yet and had she had a good time? I hoped so but not too great, obviously.
When the chocolate was glossy, I folded all the ingredients in together, pausing to wipe some residue mixture on the Wonder Woman apron Matt had bought me the week before. A couple of hours later and all the cakes were sitting obediently on their wire perches like show dogs at Crufts.
It was after lunchtime and I heard my stomach rumbling so I decided to make myself a sandwich and a coffee, taking it through to the counter so I could sit down while eating. This always confused passers-by as they could never work out if this meant the café was open or not. My plan was to keep my head down and shake it sorrowfully at any hopeful knocking on the glass. Today, I was not open for business. Not until later at least.
I settled myself at the counter with my chicken sandwich and latte, licking my index finger to turn the page of yesterday’s paper. An engine’s roar made me look up briefly as a huge lorry rumbled past Porter’s making the café door vibrate in its lock. When its long body slithered from view, I was astonished to find myself looking directly at Lucy who was walking past the front window oblivious to my stare. She had no idea I worked here and I instinctively picked up the paper to cover my face.
But Lucy wasn’t alone. She was walking along the path with another woman, smiling and chatting. The woman, who was not unattractive with long blonde hair, leaned in and said something to Lucy. She threw back her head laughing. I felt winded. It was as if someone was filming them purely for my benefit but this was one vignette I didn’t particularly want to see.
I dropped the paper, realising they weren’t looking in my direction. My neck turned with a heavy crunch as I followed Lucy and her plus one walking down the street, arms now linked. Perhaps that’s why she hadn’t called. We had only met once after all, but I hadn’t forgotten her. Perhaps the feeling wasn’t reciprocated. My face fell into a frown. Perhaps she’d met the love of her life in Sydney who just happened to live in London and here they were, doing that couple thing on a Saturday of walking around the city looking smug.
I’d lost my appetite and pushed away the second half of my sandwich, chewing on my bottom lip. I might be jumping to conclusions but then again, my eyes could normally be trusted. I felt the hot stab of disappointment.
***
Back home, I got down to ironing my party shirt for the evening ahead, not quite managing to vanquish the image of Lucy and her mystery woman from my mind. While I was getting ready, the phone went.
“Any job news yet?” It was my mum. She sounded breezy.
“I’ve got a job, I told you.”
“Yes, but a proper job,” she said. Her tone had now changed to that special type she reserved for telling off her children.
“This is my proper job for now.”
“But you’ve got a degree…”
“That’ll get me a job in sales and I am all out of sales pitches. Besides, I like
Baking was something I’d discovered a talent for and whoever knew it was so therapeutic? All this time I’d been trying yoga and pilates, when really what I’d needed was butter, eggs, flour, sugar and an oven. I mixed together the flour, sugar, baking powder and bicarbonate, whipped up the eggs and melted the chocolate in a glass bowl over low-bubbling water, marvelling as I always did as it dissolved into a puddle of silky brown gloss.
I allowed myself a brief fantasy about licking some from a pair of pert breasts – perhaps Lucy’s? – but then realised that would involve getting chocolate in places I’d rather not. In my experience, sex and food rarely mixed in a fun, clean way, or perhaps I was just a little bit anal. I wondered again about Lucy: was she back from Sydney yet and had she had a good time? I hoped so but not too great, obviously.
When the chocolate was glossy, I folded all the ingredients in together, pausing to wipe some residue mixture on the Wonder Woman apron Matt had bought me the week before. A couple of hours later and all the cakes were sitting obediently on their wire perches like show dogs at Crufts.
It was after lunchtime and I heard my stomach rumbling so I decided to make myself a sandwich and a coffee, taking it through to the counter so I could sit down while eating. This always confused passers-by as they could never work out if this meant the café was open or not. My plan was to keep my head down and shake it sorrowfully at any hopeful knocking on the glass. Today, I was not open for business. Not until later at least.
I settled myself at the counter with my chicken sandwich and latte, licking my index finger to turn the page of yesterday’s paper. An engine’s roar made me look up briefly as a huge lorry rumbled past Porter’s making the café door vibrate in its lock. When its long body slithered from view, I was astonished to find myself looking directly at Lucy who was walking past the front window oblivious to my stare. She had no idea I worked here and I instinctively picked up the paper to cover my face.
But Lucy wasn’t alone. She was walking along the path with another woman, smiling and chatting. The woman, who was not unattractive with long blonde hair, leaned in and said something to Lucy. She threw back her head laughing. I felt winded. It was as if someone was filming them purely for my benefit but this was one vignette I didn’t particularly want to see.
I dropped the paper, realising they weren’t looking in my direction. My neck turned with a heavy crunch as I followed Lucy and her plus one walking down the street, arms now linked. Perhaps that’s why she hadn’t called. We had only met once after all, but I hadn’t forgotten her. Perhaps the feeling wasn’t reciprocated. My face fell into a frown. Perhaps she’d met the love of her life in Sydney who just happened to live in London and here they were, doing that couple thing on a Saturday of walking around the city looking smug.
I’d lost my appetite and pushed away the second half of my sandwich, chewing on my bottom lip. I might be jumping to conclusions but then again, my eyes could normally be trusted. I felt the hot stab of disappointment.
***
Back home, I got down to ironing my party shirt for the evening ahead, not quite managing to vanquish the image of Lucy and her mystery woman from my mind. While I was getting ready, the phone went.
“Any job news yet?” It was my mum. She sounded breezy.
“I’ve got a job, I told you.”
“Yes, but a proper job,” she said. Her tone had now changed to that special type she reserved for telling off her children.
“This is my proper job for now.”
“But you’ve got a degree…”
“That’ll get me a job in sales and I am all out of sales pitches. Besides, I like
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