‘But we’re loads busier these days,’ said Issy.
‘Yes, but you’ve taken on more staff and you’re paying overtime,’ said Austin. ‘It doesn’t matter if you have a million people a day, if you don’t take in more cash than you spend you’re going to the wall, and that’s the end of it. You didn’t even open on Saturday.’
That was a step too far and they both knew it.
‘You’re right,’ said Issy. ‘Obviously on Saturday I made a mistake.’
‘I didn’t mean it like that,’ said Austin.
‘I think you did,’ said Issy.
There was a pause. Then Issy said, ‘You know, my grandfather … My grandfather ran three bakeries at one point. He supplied huge amounts of bread in Manchester. He was a success, and he knew everyone. Of course all his money’s gone now … Nursing homes, you know. Getting good care is expensive.’
‘I do know, yes,’ said Austin, and Issy heard the simple pain in his voice, but didn’t want to feel sympathetic.
‘Anyway, he was famous when I was growing up; everyone got their bread from him. And if they were sick or couldn’t make the bill that week, he’d help them out, or if a hungry child was passing by, he’d always have a cake for them, or a sickly mum, or an old soldier. Everyone knew him. And he was a huge success. And that’s what I want to do.’
‘And I think that’s wonderful,’ said Austin. ‘He sounds like a wonderful man.’
‘He is,’ said Issy fervently.
‘And that’s how businesses worked for hundreds of years – then the big boys came in and built huge shops, not in town, and made everything loads cheaper and invented central distribution and however much everyone liked the little shops and knew the people, they all went to the big shops. That’s just what happened.’
Issy stayed silent. She knew that was true. The local stores had nearly all gone by the time Gramps retired; the city centre was almost deserted. People didn’t want a chat with their bread any more, not if it cost them a few pence extra a loaf.
‘So if you’re going to offer personal service, and a small shop with all the overheads involved in single-service marketing, you do, I’m afraid, have to fight a bit harder than your grandfather did.’
‘Nobody fights harder than him,’ said Issy defiantly.
‘Well, that’s good. I’m glad you’ve inherited his spirit. But please, please, Issy. Apply it to the modern age.’
‘Thank you for the business advice,’ said Issy.
‘You’re welcome,’ said Austin.
And they hung up, both upset, both frustrated, at opposite ends of Stoke Newington.
Telling herself she had been foolish to think that anything might have happened over the weekend, Issy took Austin’s words to heart. She submerged herself in the business; paid her bills on time, kept on top of the paperwork; used Caroline’s new hours to organize and streamline everything. She was even at risk of wringing a smile out of Mrs Prescott. She was in early to bake cupcakes – the standard favourites, orange and lemon, double chocolate and strawberry and vanilla, plus a constantly rotating menu of new recipes to keep the regulars coming back for more. Most of these were tested on Doti the postman, whose visits were almost getting embarrassing for everyone except Pearl, who smiled at him and teased him no more nor less than she did everyone else who crossed her path.
Caroline and Pearl were continuing to clash.
‘I must do those windows,’ Caroline murmured to Issy on her way out one day.
Pearl rolled her eyes. ‘Well, I’ll do them.’
‘No, no,’ said Caroline. ‘I’ll come in on my day off.’
So of course the windows got washed by Pearl, immediately.
‘I think we’d better tell Issy there’s too much cinnamon in the cinnamon rolls, don’t you?’ Caroline would say chummily. ‘I’ll do it of course.’
So Pearl was always left feeling like the junior partner. One day, when Pearl was alone in the shop, Kate marched in with the twins.
‘I’m here for the order.’
Seraphina was wearing a pink ballet tutu. Jane was wearing blue dungarees. Pearl tried to focus on what Kate was saying, but she was distracted by the sight of Seraphina holding open the tutu waistband and Jane attempting to climb inside, while simultaneously pushing a dungaree strap over Seraphina’s little shoulder.
‘What’s that?’ she said, pleasantly.
‘For the cakes with messages. Caroline said it was a brilliant concept and she’d get you right on it.’
‘Did she?’ said Pearl. Kate was saved from a classic Pearl snort by the two little girls suddenly falling over.
‘Seraphina! Jane! What are you doing?’
The girls were all tangled up in each other’s clothing and were rolling around the floor in hysterics.
‘We not Jane an Sufine! We Sufijane!’
They dissolved in giggles again, cuddling one another, the two blonde heads identical.
‘Get up,’ shouted Kate. ‘Or it’ll be the naughty step for you, Seraphina, and the naughty corner for you, Jane.’
The two girls slowly disentangled themselves, heads hanging.
‘Honestly,’ said Kate, shaking her head at Pearl.
‘They’re adorable,’ said Pearl, missing Louis. She couldn’t believe how much you could miss someone you were going to see in a few hours. Sometimes after he was asleep she had to go and look at him at night because she couldn’t wait to see him in the morning.
‘Humph,’ said Kate. ‘So, can you do it?’
‘Do what?’ said Pearl, hating the idea of Caroline subcontracting on her behalf.
‘I want letters piped on the cakes.’
‘Oh,’ said Pearl. It would be time-consuming but they’d be able to charge a premium, she supposed. Would it be worth her while?
‘I’d want it professional standard,’ said Kate. ‘None of this local amateur nonsense.’
And would it be worth having to do it to Kate’s standards?
‘Can we have cake, Mummy?’ Seraphina was asking sweetly. ‘We’ll share.’
‘We like to share,’ shouted Jane.
‘No, darlings, this is all junk,’ said Kate absent-mindedly. Pearl sighed. Kate took a quick phone call while Pearl stood there, cursing Caroline and all her friends, then Kate turned off her phone.