‘And you still think Graeme’s going to make an honest woman of you one day,’ said Helena, starting in on her second glass. ‘That’s pretty optimistic.’
Issy felt herself colour.
‘Who’s this?’ said Pearl.
‘No one,’ said Issy. ‘My ex.’
‘Her ex-boss,’ explained Helena helpfully.
‘Ouch,’ said Pearl. ‘That doesn’t sound too good.’
Issy sighed. ‘Well, I’m moving on now. Taking control of my life.’
‘Was he nice?’ asked Pearl, who didn’t feel in any position to tell people who they should and shouldn’t be taking back.
‘No,’ said Helena.
‘He was!’ protested Issy. ‘You just didn’t see that side of him. He had a sensitive side.’
‘That came out when he wasn’t summoning you by taxi halfway across town in the middle of the night to make him Super Noodles,’ said Helena.
‘I knew I should never have told you about the Super Noodles.’
‘No, you should have done,’ said Helena, helping herself to a packet of crisps. ‘Otherwise I might have been sitting here saying, “Oh yes, he is terribly handsome, you must turn yourself into a total doormat to get him back just because he looks like he should be in a razor commercial.”’
‘He is handsome,’ said Issy.
‘That’s why he preens himself in every polished surface,’ said Helena. ‘It’s brilliant you’re over him.’
‘Hmm,’ said Issy.
‘And have that banker to pash on.’
Issy shot a look at Pearl. ‘Helena,’ she said.
Pearl smiled back at Helena. ‘Oh, I know.’
‘I am not. And for your information, just because I don’t dribble on about it all the time, I do still miss Graeme.’
Pearl patted her hand. ‘Don’t worry,’ she said, ‘I know it can be hard to get over people.’
‘You?’ said Issy. ‘You look like you never worry a day in your life about that kind of stuff.’
‘Do I?’ snorted Pearl. ‘What, I’m completely sexless?’
‘No!’ said Issy. ‘I mean, you just seem so sorted.’
Pearl’s eyebrows shot up. ‘That’s right, Issy. Oh, and there’s Louis’s dad, Barack Obama, sending the helicopter to give us a lift home.’
‘Is Louis’s dad still around?’ asked Helena, forthright as ever.
Pearl tried not to let a little smile cross her face. She was being tough. If even Issy could show her no-good lover the door, the least she could do was put up a bit more resistance to Benjamin. On the other hand, what time was it …
‘Well, he sees his boy,’ she said, conscious that she sounded a bit proud.
‘What’s he like?’ asked Issy, anxious to change the subject to someone else’s romantic travails.
‘Well,’ said Pearl reflectively, ‘my mother always used to say that handsome is as handsome does … but I was never very good at listening to my mother.’
‘I didn’t want to listen to mine,’ said Issy. ‘She said, “Don’t get tied down.” But I would really like to be tied down …’
‘Or up,’ added Helena.
‘And nobody wants to. So I am Not Tied Down.’ Issy sighed and wondered if more rosé would help. Probably not, but worth a shot under the circumstances.
‘Well, look at you now – owning your own business, which actually sold some cakes today,’ said Helena. ‘Not reliant on some lantern-jawed eejit for snogging. And men love a woman who can bake and look nice in a flowery dress, they think it’ll be like the fifties and you’ll mix them a martini. You’re at the start of a pulling bonanza. Trust me.’ She raised a glass.
‘Now you are glass-half-full,’ said Issy, but she felt mildly cheered nonetheless.
‘What did your mother tell you, Helena?’ asked Pearl.
‘Never to get involved in other people’s business,’ said Helena promptly. And the three women laughed, and chinked glasses.
Chapter Thirteen
‘Where’s my little man Chunks?’ asked Issy as Pearl turned up – a little late, but frankly she was so grateful to Pearl that she was going to overlook the small things. ‘I miss him.’
Pearl smiled tightly and rushed in to grab the Hoover and mop so she could run round before they opened up.
‘He just loves being with his grandma,’ she said, realizing as she did so what an idyllic cake-baking, duck-feeding picture that presented, rather than the cheerless, fuggy little flat. ‘Anyway, let me just get round here quickly, the morning rush will be on soon.’
They smiled at each other, but it was true that since the accident there had been a steady stream of people – the ambulancemen, the bystanders, the mother with the lovely baby girl, and Ashok, who had popped in to ask for Helena’s phone number, which made Issy’s eyebrows rise so much he’d apologized instantly. Issy had taken his and passed it on, fully expecting Helena to drop it in the hospital incinerator.
The council had replaced the long bendy buses with the original double-deckers, which looked nicer coming down the street (and moved at more of a clip) but held far fewer passengers than the bendy buses. As a result a lot of people couldn’t get on during rush hour, and found themselves popping in for a coffee to pass the time; Issy had started buying in croissants. Short of growing another pair of hands, she sadly admitted to herself, she had to buy them in; anyway, the very best croissant-making was an art all to itself, so rather than her straining for a new goal, she’d sourced the most wonderful boulanger, courtesy of François, who’d pointed her in the direction of a company who delivered an exquisite mixed box of pains au chocolat, croissants and croissants aux amandes at 7am sharp every day; there was never a single one left by nine.
Then came the morning coffee; Mira, with little Elise, had managed to find herself some new friends among other mums, and they came often and chattered loudly in Romanian on the grey sofa, which was beginning to take on the soft, well-used sheen Issy had hoped for it. Some of the yummy mummies had started to make their way down from the crèche; if they recognized Pearl, she would smile briefly then busy herself (now not difficult) fetching organic lemonades and juices. Lunchtime was a rush, then the afternoon was a little more meditative, with office girls and women organizing children’s parties coming in to buy boxes of half a dozen or even a dozen cakes; Issy was considering getting a sign up to invite personalizing and special orders. In between there were endless lattes, teas, raspberry specials; vanilla-iced blueberry cakes; slices of thick apple pie; cleaning up, wiping, signing for suppliers, invoices; post; cleaning up spills, smiling at children and waving to regulars; chatting to passers-by and opening more milk, more butter, more eggs. By four, Issy and Pearl would be ready to lie down on one of the huge sacks of flour in the storeroom, where Pearl fearlessly scratched out the inner corners with her mop to make sure they were as sparkling as the areas of the shop people actually saw.