‘You’re selling cupcakes, aren’t you?’
‘Definitely,’ said Issy, her eyes shining as the corn started popping in the pot. ‘Large and small. Because, you know, sometimes people don’t want a great big cake, they want something tiny and delicious and delicate that tastes of rose petals, or a little lavender one that just explodes, or a tiny cupcake that tastes like a blueberry muffin and has a huge blueberry inside that bursts, and—’
‘OK, OK,’ said Helena, laughing. ‘I get the picture. Well, why don’t you just call it the Cupcake Café? Then people can say, “Oh, you know, that place with all the cupcakes,” and they’ll say, “I can’t remember what it’s called,” and you can say, “It’s the Cupcake Café” and everyone will say, “Oh, yes, let’s meet there.”’
Issy thought about it. It was simple and a bit obvious, but still, it felt right.
‘I suppose,’ she said. ‘But lots of people don’t even like cupcakes. How about the Cupcake and Other Things, Some Savoury, Café?’
‘Are you sure you’re cut out for this?’ said Helena, in a teasing voice.
‘I have a head for business and a body for sin,’ said Issy. Then she glanced down at the popcorn on her lap. ‘Unfortunately, the sin appears to be gluttony.’
Des was trying to cope with what was supposedly colic but mostly meant Jamie arching his back and screaming to get away from him. His wife and his mother-in-law had gone to the spa for some ‘me’ time when Issy rang, and at first he found it a little hard to concentrate. Oh yes, the impulsive one who was just wandering past. He hadn’t really expected to hear from her again; he’d thought she was just killing time. Anyway, that other lady had called him too … Damn it! His train of thought was interrupted as Jamie gummed him hard on the thumb. God, he knew babies weren’t capable of being vindictive, but this baby in particular didn’t seem to have got the memo.
‘Oh right. Only that other woman’s come back and made me a firm offer.’
Issy felt an instant let-down. Oh no, surely not. She had a vision of her dream being dashed before it had even begun.
‘I’ve got a few other places I can show you …’
‘No!’ said Issy. ‘It has to be that one! It has to be there!’
It was true, she had fallen in love.
‘Well,’ said Des, sensing a win. ‘She did offer less than what the landlord was asking for.’
‘I’ll make an offer too,’ pleaded Issy. ‘And I’ll be a very good tenant.’
Des jiggled Jamie up and down in front of the window. At last, the baby was giggling. He wasn’t, thought Des, such a bad little chap really.
‘Yes, that’s what the last four people said,’ he replied. ‘And they all shut down within three months.’
‘Well, I’m different,’ said Issy. The baby laughed, and warmed Des’s mood.
‘OK,’ he said. ‘Let me talk to Mr Barstow.’
Issy hung up, feeling slightly mollified. Helena went into her bedroom and brought out a bag.
‘I was going to save this to give you as a proper gift-wrapped present,’ she said. ‘But I think you might need it now.’
Issy opened it. It was a copy of Running a Small Business for Dummies.
‘Thank you,’ she said.
Helena smiled. ‘You need all the help you can get.’
‘I know,’ said Issy. ‘But I’ve already got you.’
Chapter Six
Lemon Getting What You Want Cake
4 oz self-raising flour, sifted
1 tsp baking powder
4 oz softened butter
4 oz caster sugar
2 large eggs
grated zest of 1 lemon
juice of 1 lemon
Icing
2 oz icing sugar
2 tsps water
1 tsp lemon juice
Preheat oven to 325°F/gas mark 3. Grease loaf tin. Sift flour and baking powder, then add all the other ingredients and beat well, or use a hand-held mixer. Spoon into loaf tin.
This is the important bit:
Cook for twenty minutes. This is not quite long enough. The cake should be yellow, not brown, but not damp inside. Salmonella poisoning is rarely useful for getting what you want.
While the cake is still warm, apply icing. The icing should react to the warm cake and separate slightly, oozing into the pores of the cake itself. It should appear almost translucent.
Now, to all intents and purposes, your cake will look like an ugly disaster. When people see your lemon cake they will feel sorry for you. They will sneer at your poor baking skills and take a piece because they feel sorry for you. Then they will taste the soft moist spongy flesh of your cake imbued with lemon icing. Their eyes will pop open with delight. And then, they will do anything you want.
Issy shook her head. Gramps seemed back on form. And actually, this wasn’t such a bad idea. Lull everyone into a false sense of security then hit them with it. Just to show what she was capable of. She’d put some pretty spun-sugar things in as well, of course. She stared at her face in the mirror, trying to convince herself that she was shop management, run-your-own-business material. She could. Surely she could. Helena had to rap on the door.
‘Are you doing pouty face?’ she hollered.
‘No,’ said Issy, remembering Helena’s teasing when it used to take her two hours to get ready for dates out of nerves. ‘Kind of. No. This is worse than a date.’
‘Well, it is a date,’ said Helena. ‘You never know, the landlord might turn out to be cute.’
Issy stuck her head round the door and made a frowny face.
‘Stop it.’
‘What?’
‘Let me get one disastrous area of my life sorted out at a time, OK?’
Helena shrugged. ‘Well, if you don’t like him, pass him over to me.’
In the event, this was clearly not going to be necessary. By the time she headed out to meet Mr Barstow, the landlord of Pear Tree Court, Helena had given her a quick pep talk. She would convince him with her level of organization and research. Or fell him with her secret-weapon Grampa cakes. They should have met near the property, but of course, Issy thought smugly, there were no coffee shops to sit down in, so they met in Des’s office. Des had had a shocking night with Jamie. His wife was refusing to get up any more, so he’d sat with the wee blighter as he howled his guts up, his face a furious red and his little chunky legs contracted up to his chest. Des stroked his hot brow, gave him Calpol and eventually, holding him close, soothed the little lad off to a wriggling, uncomfortable sleep. But he’d had two hours, max. He felt like death in a cup.