Wish Upon A Christmas Cake

‘And you’re not to wallow in thoughts about what might have been…you know…with what’s-his- name.’ Ann planted a kiss on my cheek. The woman could read my thoughts, I was sure of it. ‘The cake mixes you’ve ruined because of that one.’ She laughed and wagged a finger at me but I knew that she understood. She made out that Harrison Monroe had been more to me than he was because she knew how I really felt. She’d been there for me when Sam and I split and she’d seen me sink to rock bottom before helping me to learn to live with my decision; the most difficult one of my life.

I’d had a few dates and short-lived flings but always kept something back, so the men who entered my life soon got tired of trying to break through my icy veneer and gave up. Harrison had come along at a point when I’d decided to try to make a commitment or give up completely on dating. However, it hadn’t worked out, and Ann had talked me through the way I’d reacted when my somewhat tenuous attempt at an adult relationship with Harrison had failed. We’d even discussed how he might have wiped the fragments of our relationship from his designer fawn suede boots, keen to get rid of any traces of Katie Warham – that image had emerged after several large glasses of wine one Saturday evening. But try as we might to ignore it, we both knew that Sam had been, and always would be, the only man I’d ever really loved.

So although it wasn’t heartbreak that was hanging around like a bad smell four months after my breakup with Harrison, it had dented my confidence and left me wondering exactly what I did want from a man. If I even wanted one in my life at all. Harrison had been something of a final attempt at love but I hadn’t committed enough for the relationship to progress. He had reacted by cheating. In fact, I had to admit that I had been deliberately absent from the relationship because I just didn’t want to move in with him. Something had held me back. And that something was called my past, AKA Sam.

‘Katie?’

‘I promise I won’t think about him at all!’

‘I wish I knew which him you were referring to, Katie, but just to be on the safe side, try not to think about either of them.’

I saluted my friend, then she enveloped me in an apple blossom and coconut-scented hug. I’d miss Ann over Christmas. Last year we’d spent the festive season together with Harrison and Mark. It had been fun, most of it anyhow. We’d eaten too much and drunk too much but that’s what Christmas is all about, right? I’d been happy. Or at least I’d thought I was happy. Even when I opened Harrison’s surprise gift and found one of those celebrity diet and fitness videos complete with a stretchy rubber band to use to tone and strengthen my thighs. His gift had made me wonder exactly what he thought about my curves and if he was trying to tell me something – another good reason for getting out of the relationship. Or just another excuse…

Harrison had claimed that he was doing me a favour, helping me to get my planned New Year’s resolutions off to a promising start with the latest dance-aerobic fitness craze. It was probably partly my fault that he’d decided I’d appreciate it. After all, I did tend to moan on occasion about how I wanted to lose weight, but don’t most people? In retrospect, it was highly likely that I’d actually planted the idea in his head. Had I deliberately manufactured the situation in order to compare Harrison unfavourably to Sam because Sam had always told me how much he loved my curves?

However, this year, I was putting the past behind me and heading off to be with the glorious Warhams, while Ann would have a romantic Christmas for two in our shared flat.

‘And fingers crossed that Santa brings you what you want, Ann.’

‘What I want?’ Ann placed her hands on her hips and waggled her eyebrows.

I winked at her. ‘I know what you really want.’

‘I don’t even know if I know what I want.’

‘You do, Ann. Deep down. I know what you’re hoping for.’

‘Well, we’ll see won’t we?’ Ann chewed her bottom lip and hugged herself.

‘He’s going to do it I’m sure.’

Ann rubbed her empty ring finger.

I hoped that Mark would come through for her. She was madly in love with her city banker and it was clear that all she wanted for Christmas was a proposal. She didn’t want a big wedding, which was a good thing seeing as how all her money was tied up in the shop, but she wanted to be his wife, to know that he was as committed to her as she was to him. That was another reason why I needed to make myself scarce. I didn’t want to be the third wheel. The spare part. The gate-crasher to their romantic festive celebrations. Ann was adorable inside and out and Mark would be lucky to have her as his wife. I just hoped that his gain wouldn’t be my loss. I would hate to have to deal with not having Ann around. She was an integral part of my life, had supported me through so much, and our business was so young. I was sure that it still had a long way to go – especially if my plans for online domination got off the ground. But Mark was quite a traditional guy and he’d spoken in the past about believing that once women had children, they should be supported by their husbands. That had been an interesting discussion over a takeaway with me obstinately blazing the trail for career women. I couldn’t help but worry that he might want Ann to quit work, and I would lose my business partner because she’d move away to a quaint rural village where she’d end up wearing tweed ensembles and baking for the local school fetes. I shuddered.

‘Okay, Ann, I’m going.’ I gave her one last hug, then climbed into my cherry-red car. I was so proud of my new car, evidence of our business success. I’d always wanted a Beetle, ever since I was a kid when I’d watched Disney’s Herbie movies. There’s nothing like the thrill of accomplishing a childhood dream. It had been my only extravagance. I liked clothes and shoes but there wasn’t much call for Manolo Blahniks when you were on your feet all day baking and as for the clothes…well I just kept promising myself that I’d go on a shopping spree once I’d dropped a few pounds. Then I’d go back to that little boutique in central London and tell that twelve year old who worked there – okay well she looked about twelve but was probably more like eighteen – that I was in fact a curvaceous medium and not a large as she had suggested. Oh how I would enjoy that one! I might even stick out my tongue, you know, just for good measure.

‘Katie?’ Ann waved a hand in front of my face. ‘That’s it, come back to me. Now promise you’ll text when you get there and make sure you take lots of photographs. I’m desperate to see this manor house you’re staying at. And if you meet any celebs, I want autographs. And selfies! And souvenirs…you know…see if you can get them to give you some movie memorabilia or something.’ She prodded my shoulder with excitement then rubbed her hands together.

I shook my head as I grinned at her. ‘I doubt that the celebs – who probably won’t even be there – actually carry movie memorabilia around with them, Ann. It’s not like Johnny Depp has a pirate sword and a long black wig in his back pocket is it?’

‘Johnny Depp?’ Ann squealed and waved her hands around her face. ‘Is…he…going…to…be there? Did you deliberately not tell me?’ She glared at me, her eyes wide as saucers.

‘If he was then I would have told you, I swear.’ I watched as she deflated like a week-old balloon. ‘I really don’t think that there’ll be any famous people there. It’s just my boring old family.’

‘I wouldn’t say that your folks are boring and Karl is kind of a celeb these days, isn’t he?’

Ann was right. Karl was being offered all sorts of movie roles now and whilst he might not be up there with the big names yet, it wasn’t hard to imagine him getting there soon. Especially with his latest role as a British spy who helps to infiltrate a foreign plot to wipe Britain off the face of the earth, then wins the heart of a highly successful and gorgeous French artist. I was fairly certain that Karl would soon be earning big bucks and selecting the roles he wanted rather than the roles his agent insisted he accept just to climb the greasy acting pole. It was a slippery one and I just hoped that my big brother would manage to get to the top and stay there. My only concern was that he might not be as successful as he should be because he wasn’t fickle enough.

‘He is a celebrity now, I guess. No problem, I’ll get as many pics as I can. Miss you already.’

I was about to start the engine when it dawned on me that I’d forgotten something. I chewed my lip, wondering what I hadn’t packed. Then I realized and a cold shiver ran down my spine. I flung open the car door and ran back into the shop with Ann hot on my heels. I skidded to a halt in front of the Christmas tree and my heart hammered as I spotted the tiny pink bear. I couldn’t believe that I’d nearly forgotten it. I unhooked the gold string from the branch and cradled the bear in my palm. Christmas wouldn’t be the same without it. The well-worn toy had always been important to me but this year it was even more so because it had been a gift from my Granny the Christmas I’d been pregnant. She’d told me to hang it on the tree that year because I’d found out at my second scan that I was expecting a girl. She’d been just as excited as I was. My throat ached as I pictured her grin when I’d confided in her that Sam and I were expecting. She’d been the first person I’d told after we found out.

I was going to miss that little old lady deeply.

So this year, having the bear with me was even more important as it would remind me of my baby and my Granny. I absolutely had to take it.

Ann had been silent and still behind me, but she now placed a hand on my shoulder. ‘You okay?’

I swallowed hard. ‘Yeah. Just…’

‘I know, Katie. It’s important that you take the bear with you.’

‘It’s silly, isn’t it?’ I squeaked.

Ann rubbed my back. ‘Not at all. Whatever helps us to deal with the pain is never silly. Are you all right to drive?’

I nodded. ‘Now I am.’

She walked back to the car with me and watched as I tucked the bear in my handbag.

‘Drive carefully, Katie. Love you!’

I blew her a kiss then watched her waving in the rear-view mirror before I pulled out into the traffic and set off.

My sat nav claimed that the journey from West Hampstead to Penshurst should take about an hour and twenty minutes. The manor house we would be staying in belonged to a film director friend of Karl. The director, whose name Karl had dropped during a recent phone call but which I couldn’t recall, was apparently famous for making those teen slasher movies. I probably didn’t know who he was because I wasn’t fussed on said films, preferring a rom-com any day. I’ve always been a sucker for a happy ending and can’t stand to watch anything that involves limbs being sawn off or men in masks chasing ridiculously naïve characters around crumbling old houses. But the generous American director had kindly invited Karl to use his English residence over the holidays, so I wasn’t going to complain. Apparently, the listed building was rarely used by the owner himself, but had featured in a variety of movies from Jane Austen remakes to World War Two epics, to a recent box office hit about an English family who all went mad during the zombie apocalypse and ended up killing each other before the zombies even started hammering on the front door. The thought of the last one made me shudder. I just hoped that Christmas wouldn’t be too crazy for the Warhams and that none of us would be forced into the insanity of murder or munching on brains.

Driving along, I peered at the sky. For weeks we’d had miserable grey drizzle that made the air heavy and damp and chilled me to the bone. Despite the bookies’ predictions, there had been no signs of snow, other than the sweet crisp frosting on our bestselling homemade Christmas cakes. Ann and I had made them using my Granny’s old recipe that she’d had from her own grandmother. Using Granny’s recipes – for puddings, cakes and mincemeat – had also made me feel closer to her, as if in baking the same things that she’d once done, I could conjure up her spirit like a medieval sorceress and feel her comforting presence in the Crumbtious kitchen. Inevitably, I’d cried a few times as I’d pored through the handwritten recipes that she’d glued into a scrapbook many years before, but I’d told myself it was okay to do so as I’d been treasuring memories not wallowing in pain.

We’d sold so many cakes that we’d had to whip up several more batches in the run-up to Christmas, which wasn’t easy when they were supposed to rest and mature, soaked in brandy, for as long as possible. But supply and demand had spurred us into frenzied action. Once the cakes had been iced, I’d enjoyed placing the tiny decorations on top of them; the fat little snowmen with their hats and scarves, the green Christmas trees and the holly wreaths. There was so much to enjoy about baking cakes then decorating them, it was an art in itself, and I got to do it on a daily basis.

Since yesterday, I’d noticed a drop in the temperature and the clouds seemed to have that heavy appearance, as if they were filled with the white stuff. The MET office forecast had remained rather vague over recent days, as they were reluctant to commit to a weather warning with so many people about to travel home, or away, for the holidays. But it definitely looked like a white Christmas was a possibility. My stomach flipped and I let out a giggle. Ridiculous to be excited at the thought of snow at my age, but it always takes me back to my childhood when we seemed to have heavy white falls that lasted for weeks and gave us countless fun-filled days off school. How I used to love extra days off, especially when I was in high school and we were overloaded with homework by grumpy teachers who clearly didn’t want to be there any more than we did. They had been good times, the white winters. Even my mother had loosened up a bit and gotten into the Christmas spirit.

I’d grown up in a comfortable five bed in a quiet cul-de-sac in Sevenoaks, Kent. Dad was the provider and Mum stayed home to keep house and raise the kids. Very traditional. Quite old fashioned. But it worked for them. Karl was born four years before me and he was the golden boy. I think I knew the moment I was born – no, make that the moment I was conceived, that I would be a disappointment. The fly in his ointment. The sprout to his roast potato. The penny to his pound. Not for Karl himself. I knew that my older brother adored me. It was my mother who seemed to resent my arrival. And even now, although I brushed it off most days and got on with my life, whenever I actually thought about her attitude, it could still hurt and confuse me.

Esther was, to all appearances, the perfect wife and mother. She kept the house spotlessly clean, kept herself toned and tanned, and ensured that Karl and I washed behind our ears and did our homework every evening before dinner. She attended parents’ evenings and sporting events. She accompanied our father on his law firm nights out, to golf dinners and charity fundraising events. It all appeared to be ideal. But as with all things that seem to be flawless, there was something wrong, something missing. I’d known it as a child but had been too young to understand quite what it was. Plus, as most children do, I’d blamed myself for the lack of maternal affection directed my way. I wasn’t pretty enough, good enough at ballet, I was tone deaf and, try as I might, I just couldn’t get the hang of algebra. Then, in my early twenties, I went and confirmed all of Esther’s suspicions about me by getting pregnant.

I leant forwards and turned up the heat in the car. Yes, there was definitely something cold about my mother and it had made me sad growing up. But reaching my thirties, I’d decided to try to accept her as she was. I only had one mother and she’d been consistent at least. Not everyone has a mother who loves them. I’d watched enough Oprah and Jeremy Kyle to know that. It’s a very sad fact of life and it happens in the animal kingdom all the time; I can’t bear to watch a nature documentary where the female abandons the weakest of her young. However, I also reminded myself how lucky I was because I’d had Karl, my father and Granny offering me love and support throughout my life.

As if on cue, my bag started buzzing on the passenger seat. I reached for it and felt around, making sure that I kept my eyes on the road. I brought my mobile in front of the wheel and glanced at it. I had a text from Karl but I couldn’t check it now. He was probably just asking what time I’d arrive. As if catching me out, the tinny female voice of my sat nav suddenly spoke, making me jump and drop my phone into the foot well.

‘There are long-term roadworks on the M25 between junction thirty and junction two. Expect delays.’

‘Dammit! You stupid machine – look what you made me do.’ I scowled at the device as I moved my left foot around, trying to locate my phone through the thick sole of my boot. The journey would take twice as long now and it was already five-thirty. Esther wouldn’t be happy at all if I was later than expected. The car in front of me suddenly braked, so I followed suit. Then waited. And waited. The traffic wasn’t going anywhere.

I leant forwards to locate my mobile and hit my head on the steering wheel which caused the horn to beep. My cheeks burned instantly. I kept my head down just in case any of the other drivers thought I’d been signalling my impatience with the wait and fumbled around until I found my mobile then popped it back in my bag. I rubbed my head where I’d bumped it but it throbbed uncomfortably. Keen for some distraction, I turned the radio on and some irritating dance track boomed through the car making my seat shake and my head hurt even more.

‘Er, no thank you.’ I changed the station and sank into my seat as Adele’s beautiful voice crooned away. I sang through a few of the love songs played on the local radio show before the traffic started moving again. I slipped the gear stick into first, then second, then…Ouch! A sudden shard of ice pierced my chest as Faith Hill’s ‘Breathe’ began. I’d forgotten how much the song made me remember – I usually required wine, cake and ice cream to survive it. ‘Breathe’ was one of my favourite songs in the early days of my relationship with Sam. It perfectly summed up how I felt about him and how whenever I was with him, everything else just seemed to fade away. I’d spent hours just lying with my head on his chest listening to him breathe and to the steady comforting sound of his heart. He’d been my first in more ways than one: my first proper kiss, my first love and my first lover. It had been nine years since we broke up but, deep down, I knew that I’d never feel that way about anyone else and, to be honest, I didn’t want to. Letting go of him and of what we had hurt so badly that I’d truly believed I would die. I never, ever wanted to go through that amount of pain again.

I quickly pressed the CD button. Yes, there we are, Seasick Steve would have to do for the rest of the journey. His gravelly voice would drag me from memories that were best not dwelt on.

The remainder of the drive passed without too much bother, or perhaps I just tuned out and went onto autopilot, because I soon found myself in Penshurst. My tinny-voiced companion – who I’m sure became more and more uptight as the evening wore on – directed me to the country estate and, before I knew it, I was ascending a gravel driveway the width of the M4. This movie director must be seriously minted. The impressive driveway was lit by Victorian-style street lamps on either side and I felt like I was driving into another time. Perhaps I had actually driven into the past and would have a true Dickensian Christmas. Wasn’t it Dickens who idealised the festive season at some point and made us all dream of the perfect white Christmas with a perfect happy family sat around a perfect roast dinner? Dickens, I love you! Really, truly I do because I love Christmas and all the little traditions that we now enjoy. It’s just the best time of the year.

As the driveway curved to the right, I felt the steering wheel lighten under my touch and I gasped as the car skidded on a patch of ice. Within seconds, everything was within my control again and I laughed at my momentary panic, though my heart continued to thud furiously for a while longer. I passed under an archway of ancient elm trees that glistened with frost, then the house came into view and literally stole my breath away. I mean, I had Googled it, but even so, in the flesh – or rather the brick – it was fabulous. The same lamps that had adorned the lower half of the driveway lit up the front of the house, highlighting the warm red of the bricks and the startling white of the sash windows. I could see why they’d chosen this location for the remakes of Pride and Prejudice and Emma. I pictured myself in a high-waisted white morning gown with a lilac satin spencer, my wavy brown hair loosely pinned, Mr Knightley running towards me, his muscular arms outstretched as I skipped along…

I couldn’t see any cars so I followed the gravel path around the left of the house until I came to some outbuildings. There, in what looked like a large open barn, I spotted my family’s cars. All of them. It looked like I was the last one to arrive. My stomach churned. Great. Now I’d have to make an entrance and seeing as how it was nearly seven, they’d probably have started on pre-dinner drinks too. I stopped the car outside the barn. I could avoid all this, just drive straight back to the flat, step into my onesie and open a tub of mint choc chip. The idea was appealing but then the thought of ruining Ann’s romantic Christmas made me start the engine again. I must be brave and stalwart. I must go onwards. I must make this a good Christmas for everyone.

I parked, climbed out and hitched my stretchy jeans up over my tummy, wriggling from side to side as I did so, then I opened the boot. As I reached over to lift out the box of cakes, I heard footsteps behind me.

‘Hi there. Need a hand?’

The voice was deep, soft and knee-tremblingly sexy. Somewhere in the depths of my mind, it sparked a memory. Sensations. Emotions. Tummy butterflies. Then I realised that whoever it was would be getting a good view of my butt and I did a mental sigh.

I turned slowly – taking care not to bump my already tender head, as I brought the box from the boot – and saw the broadest chest I had ever seen in my life. I could have ironed a king-sized duvet cover on it. I gripped the box tighter, suddenly afraid that my wanton fingers would release it in their hurry to caress those gorgeous pecs so obvious beneath the tight-fitting grey polo shirt.

‘Are you okay?’ That voice again like melted chocolate, running through my fingers, over my tongue. My legs started shaking. Get a grip, Katie. Look up. See who it is. Although I already knew. I raised my eyes slowly, memorizing every muscle beneath the clothing that I didn’t want to be there and saw…

‘Sam? Is that really you?’ My stomach dropped to my boots.

‘Let me take that box before you drop it.’ He went to remove it from my hands but my fingers stubbornly held on. He tried again and I willed myself to release it, but my hands just refused to comply. Sam smiled as a flush spread over his face. Suddenly, as he tugged again, I let go and the box jolted into the air, only stopped from going over Sam’s shoulder by his quick reactions. Baked goods, however, escaped in all directions and I stared, open-mouthed, as cinnamon and cranberry muffins, mince pies and white chocolate Florentines rolled off into the darkness.

Sam carefully lowered the box and checked its contents. I ground my teeth together, overwhelmed by disbelief at how I failed to have control over my own body at the most crucial of moments. It was as if I went into useless mode whenever I really, really, really wanted to be at my calmest and coolest.

Stupid hands! Stupid brain! Stupid heart!

‘Still quite a few cakes in there so you didn’t lose everything.’ Sam nodded at the box that was now much less of a peace offering for my mother than it had been five minutes ago. ‘Sorry about that. I was just trying to help because it looked heavy. And…uh…yeah it’s me. Been a while eh, Katie?’