Bron had a dilemma; while she had a perfectly good plan for making Carrie's cake on paper, she didn't really know it would work until she'd made some experiments. It was too early to make the actual cake, but she needed some dummy runs, to make sure it would all work. For this, she needed tools. Roger had a shed full of them, but she wasn't going back there. The obvious solution was James – he was a gardener, they always had tools, didn't they?
Her problem was getting up the courage to talk to him. After his initial friendliness and welcoming attitude their friendship hadn't really progressed. He'd wave at her when he saw her and they'd shared the odd cup of tea over the garden fence as it were, but that was all. She hadn't even seen him for a day or so. For the first time in a very long while, Bron had found herself thinking about a man other than Roger. A man with a very cute smile. And although it wasn't that she wanted to fall into another relationship, five minutes after Roger, part of her was miffed that he hadn't even asked her to go for a drink.
The trouble was, she was developing a bit of crush on him – probably because he was so different from Roger -but she had no idea how he might feel about her. She knew he was single. They got on well, but it was not the sort of question you could ask outright. Bron blushed at the very thought. It really was a little soon after Roger and a crush didn't necessarily mean anything, did it?
He probably wasn't avoiding her. It could just be that they were never home at the same time. He went off to work with Brodie early in the morning, and in the evenings Bron was often out doing hair. Word was getting around that she was available for after-hours hairdressing and she was really busy. She was enjoying it too, she reflected. Had she known how much freelance work she could get, she would have left the salon ages ago, if she hadn't been so under Roger's controlling thumb.
But this evening she had arranged to be free. She would be ready to shoot out of her house the moment he arrived home, be it on his bicycle or in the car. She really did need his help. She would lure him into her house with cold lager or hot tea, depending on the weather, and ask about tools. He was bound to have some, or at least access to them. She heard his car pull up and almost fell over herself getting down the stairs and out of the front door.
‘James!' she called.
He turned suddenly. 'Bron! Are you all right?’
Bron realised her call must have sounded a bit panic-stricken. Why had her usual social skills deserted her? She didn't want him to think she was desperate or had designs on him – well, not really. 'I'm fine, but I did want to ask you a favour. Would you like to come in and have a drink or something? Tea? Lager? Elderflower pressé?'
‘Cool. I'll just go in and shower. After all that rain the garden has gone mad and I'm stinking.’
James arrived on her doorstep smelling of shower gel. His hair, which she still longed to trim, was damp.
‘Lager?' she asked. 'It's after six and you've had a long day.'
‘Yes please.' He grinned and took the can. 'I don't need a glass.'
‘Shall we go and sit outside? Now the weather's cleared up it's nice to make the most of the garden.' Bron picked up a bowl of crisps she had ready and brought her elderflower drink with her.
An old bench near a rickety table had been set at the end of the garden, designed to catch the last of the sunshine. Bron set down the crisps and her drink.
‘I'm just going inside to get something.' She came back with a large lined pad on which she had made her plans. 'It's this cake. I think I mentioned it to you. Now I've got to actually make the wretched thing.'
‘Wretched?'
‘Well, not really. I'm just not convinced I can make it work. I need a really strong pole stuck into a base that won't fall over, whatever happens.'
‘It's a topiary tree, isn't it? So a flower pot filled with concrete with the pole stuck in it would work.'
‘Where would I get a steel pole? Or would wood be strong enough?’
James considered. 'I think steel would be best really. Pity, because wooden mop stick is easy to get hold of. But it should be possible to get a steel pole too. Would a length of scaffold be too thick?’
Bron considered. 'Maybe not, as long as the cake on top was big enough so it looked in proportion. And scaffold would be hollow, easier to stick things into it.'
‘Show me the design again.' James took the pad and examined her drawings in silence for a while. 'So you need metal discs to support the cake. Where will you get those?'
‘Well, if I was using a broomstick, I could buy loose bottom quiche tins. You can get them in most sizes. But I'm not sure they'd come in a big enough size to look right with a length of scaffold.' She wrinkled her nose. 'It's not easy being an artist in cake. Hair is much easier.’
He laughed. 'Don't worry. There must be a solution; we just have to find it. How many discs do you think you'll need?'
‘I think about six should do it. I suppose if we used metal I could make a fruit cake, which could be useful.'
‘I haven't heard cake being described as useful before, but I suppose there's a first time for everything.’
Bron inclined her head. 'A fruit cake on a camping trip is very useful indeed, but in this instance it means I could start baking now. Fruit would be much more expensive, of course, but I don't suppose Carrie would care.' She frowned again. 'At least I don't have to make Lily's cake as well.'
‘Lily? Who's Lily?'
‘Oh, Sarah's mad younger sister. She's great fun but a bit scatty and she wants to have a very traditional wedding costing half nothing. My friend Elsa is adapting a wedding dress from a charity shop for her; I've found some caterers who'll do the food for cost and the church flowers are being done by the previous wedding. Her aunt is making the cake. Sarah's having to be really ingenious to get it all sorted.'
‘No wonder,' he said, with one eyebrow raised.
Bron laughed. 'Sarah would probably like it if Carrie had a fruit cake then we could bulk-buy ingredients. Maybe we could still do that. I could give the fruit and stuff to Sarah so that their Auntie Dot or whoever it is can make it. What do you think?’
He allowed these details to go straight over his head without consideration. 'I have no idea.’
Bron sighed, aware she was asking his opinion just because he was a man. It was a bad habit she'd picked up from being with Roger and she must break it!
‘So,' James went on, 'tell me how you get the cake -whichever kind you decide on – on to the discs and the pole?'
‘I'll cut each section of cake in half and fit it round the pole, on top of discs. Then, when I've got a rough sphere I'll ice it so it's completely spherical.'
‘You'll need lots of cake. And icing.'
‘Definitely, and I thought, as it's for Carrie, a little crystal in the centre of each flower. Look.' She drew his attention to the drawing of the four-petal flowers that were going to cover the sphere. 'Very bling, don't you think?'
‘Won't they crack people's teeth?' said James.
Bron laughed. 'No! Only the inside of the cake will be served.'
‘In which case – very bling indeed.'
‘So, being a gardener,' she said, 'could you find me a nice concrete pot? I'd paint it to make it look old if I had time, but I really don't think I have.'
‘What's going to happen to it afterwards?’
Bron shrugged. 'I don't know. I'm going to do a series of polystyrene ones as well.'
‘Why on earth would you make polystyrene cakes? This woman's not on some weird diet, is she?'
‘No!' Bron laughed. 'It's because we want two rows of them, leading up to the larger, real cake. Apparently the venue has got the ideal place for it, and it'll look really fab. I couldn't possibly make nine cakes and they wouldn't all get eaten.'
‘I see.'
‘Although there will be lots of extra cake. This one's for show, really.'
‘So how many people are coming to the wedding?'
‘I'm not sure. I don't think even Sarah knows. Carrie keeps changing her mind. I'm making the big cake for fifty, and enough cake for another hundred. It's all very last minute for such a big wedding.' She realised she shouldn't have mentioned Carrie's name as it was still supposed to be confidential, but then she realised that James didn't read Celeb, so probably wouldn't have recognised the name even if she'd said it in full. 'You don't know any blacksmiths, do you?'
‘No, but I know a half-decent welder. He'd fix the discs to the pole for you.’
Bron had to stop herself clapping her hands like an overexcited schoolgirl. 'Brilliant! Who's that?'
‘Me. I was at art college before I did IT, before I became a gardener. Believe it or not, we did welding.’
Bron marvelled again at how different James was to Roger. Roger might have wanted to be in charge all the time but he wasn't the most practical or helpful of men.
‘Oh, that would be marvellous! Can you find the bits?'
‘You mean the pole and the discs? I could get some made out of sheet metal if you give me the dimensions.'
‘That's fantastic!'
‘I can even distress the concrete pot for you.'
‘Oh, James, you're such a star. I've been really worried about the technical side of it. Now I know we can really make this work.’
He smiled slightly. 'I haven't been part of a "we" for ages.’
A breath of sadness touched the atmosphere, and suddenly Bron felt the urge to give him a comforting hug. She knew it would be the wrong thing to do and so said, 'It's not always all it's cracked up to be.’
Then she realised she'd sounded cynical, not comforting, and she wished she had hugged him. He was so lovely! 'What are you cooking for supper?' she said quickly, to change the mood as much as anything.
He blinked. The mood-changing thing had obviously worked. 'Nothing much. An omelette probably. As usual.'
‘Why don't we walk to the pub? I've got nothing much in either,' she said, crossing her fingers that he'd say yes.
‘So you haven't got a date tonight, then?’
For a moment Bron didn't know what he was talking about. 'No, why?'
‘Nothing. It's just you're usually out in the evenings.’
She laughed. He'd noticed – was that a good sign or not? It probably said more about the summer television schedules than it did about his interest in her.
‘Oh, I'm not going on dates. I'm doing people's hair! My older clients – who gather in flocks at each other's houses, quite often – take up my days. But I've got a few working women, or women who have children and want their hair doing when they've got someone to look after the children, who I do in the evenings.'
‘I see. I thought you had a hectic social life.’
Still shocked at his mistake, she said, 'Not at all. I've only just left Roger. I'm conserving my energy.’
Later, when they walked to and from the pub, she was still wondering how he felt about her. They'd had a lovely evening, chatted easily, she'd even laughed at his jokes, but she still had no idea if he saw her as anything more than the girl next door he was giving a helping hand to. He was not only a very attractive man under his scruffy clothes and too-long hair (which he hadn't taken her up on her offer to cut yet) but, despite being quite easygoing, he was also completely inscrutable. And she'd never found it easy to understand men. Perhaps it had been this that had stopped her realising what Roger was really like until too late. She sighed. At least she'd get to see a bit more of James now he'd agreed to help her with the cake.
Having ascertained how, with James's help, she was going to make the structure, Bron knew it was time to begin the trial run. Veronica, the owner of the officially-approved-ofkitchen had a Cash and Carry card and Bron arranged to meet her so she could buy some ingredients. Although in theory she was confident her cake would work, she wanted to give herself lots of time to practise. They met up in the car park of the huge warehouse.
‘Hello, dear!' said Veronica, waving as she locked her car. 'This is such fun!'
‘But you must come here often! You're always making cakes!'
‘But not for celebrities – that's quite different. Oh, and your friend Sarah asked me to make the cake for her sister as we're doing the catering anyway. Apparently the family friend who was going to do it can't, for some reason. I hope you don't mind.'
‘Not at all. Why should I?'
‘I didn't want you to think I was muscling in on your new career as a cake-maker.’
Bron shook her head. 'I promise you, I have more than enough on my plate as it is.'
‘So the freelancing's going well?'
‘Yes, I'm really busy. And I like it much more than I thought I would. I was worried I'd miss working with other people, but going to people's homes is much more fun. I sometimes do whole families. The book work is a bit of a nightmare though, I must say.'
‘Is it?'
‘Well… not really, I suppose, but Roger always dealt with the finances so it's a bit of a learning curve for me doing it.' She'd always rather resented him taking charge all the time but now she realised that could be quite a useful quality sometimes.
‘I'm quite used to book-keeping after making cakes for the WI stall for so long.' Veronica paused. 'Sarah said with things like flour and butter and margarine, which will go into both cakes, we should buy ingredients together. Then I'll work out how much of them went into Lily's cake.’
Bron shook her head. 'And I thought my books were complicated!'
‘I should think it will work out about equal. Your cake is much bigger, but mine will be full of expensive fruit and brandy and stuff.'
‘Whatever you think, Veronica. I'm sure you and Sarah can work it out between you. I just want my cake not to drop to the floor in a heap of crumbs!’
Veronica chuckled. 'We can use my business credit card. Now, have you made a list of what you need?'
‘I think so. This isn't for the final cake, though, only a practice one. I want to make sure I can get the icing to stay on OK. It would be so awful if it dropped off.’
Veronica found a cart that to Bron seemed more suited to shifting planefuls of luggage than packets of flour and sugar.
‘I can't believe we need anything that big,' she said as she followed her friend through the doors into the building. Once through she stopped. 'This place is huge! Like an aircraft hanger.’
Plastic-wrapped blocks of food were stacked from floor to ceiling, only accessible by fork-lift truck. They created tower blocks of tins, packets, bottles – anything that contained food. To Bron it seemed like a combination of the largest DIY store she had ever seen and a cut-price supermarket, where the products were left in their cartons and not displayed.
But it didn't only stock the everyday items on Bron's list. Her cake was destined to look fabulous but the ingredients were simple enough. When she saw what was available in this monster store, a sort of buying rush swept over her and she wanted everything, in mammoth quantities.
‘Oh look! Liquorice pipes by the box! I must get some for my dad for when I next go over.' She put a box on the trolley. 'And it's all so cheap!'
‘You need to remember that the prices are shown without the VAT,' said Veronica, gently touching Bron's arm. 'I can claim it back but you have to pay it upfront.’
Bron refused to be cast down. 'I'll keep the things that are for me separate. I can't have Carrie paying for Dad's liquorice pipes. Oh, and look at that! Boxes and boxes of Dairy Milk – imagine never running out!’
Veronica chuckled. 'You don't want to risk your lovely figure eating too much chocolate. They'll tempt you terribly if you buy them.'
‘Mm. I suppose so.' She put back the lifetime's supply of chocolate she had heaved on to the trolley. 'I'd better get out my list.'
‘And try to stick to it, or you'll end up spending a fortune and not have the things you need. Believe me, I know!’
Bron was very pleased with her haul. She hadn't deviated from her list too badly and when she had, she'd been able to justify it. When they got back to Veronica's large and officially hygienic kitchen, she had some huge baking tins, enough foil to line a large room, almost as much silicone paper, baking sheets, cooling racks, sackfuls of silver balls and other decorative bits she thought might be useful as well as kilos and kilos of butter, flour and sugar. Several trays of eggs topped the stack of ingredients on the floor. She could collect the crystals from Elsa once she knew what she was doing.
‘Shopping in such huge quantities is exhausting!' she said, helping Veronica in with a huge pack of flour. 'Everything is so enormous.'
‘And you walk so far because the place is so huge,' said Veronica. 'It's a mile between the cornflakes and the porridge oats. I reckon I don't need to do any other exercise if it's a Cash and Carry day. My upper body strength is very impressive these days.’
Bron looked at her arms, which were trembling slightly with exertion. 'Mm – I think I need to work on mine.’
Veronica filled the kettle and while she waited for it to boil said, 'So, dear, are we going to be able to share a kitchen? Ideally, we wouldn't coincide, but you need a dummy run and each layer will take time and I've got my usual baking to do.’
Bron hurried to reassure her. 'I'll be very tidy, I promise you. I'm a very organised cook.’
Veronica laughed. 'Well, Pat really misses you; that Sasha never lifts a finger, apparently.’
Bron tried to look insouciant. She failed.