Page 2 of The Wedding Cake
“You’re on!” said Alice, in the same carefree way in which she’d accepted River’s flash mob dance proposal smack bang in the middle of Glastonbury high street. “A chilled out Andalucían wedding is so much moreusthan a formal ‘do’ in a posh Somerset castle.”
She skipped to the drinks cabinet and pulled out a couple of wine glasses so they could celebrate.
“Hell, no. This calls for a cocktail, Al.”
River did a swift assessment of their lunch ingredients, marched to the fridge and peered inside it, closed the door again (and his eyes), finger-jabbed skywards as if he’d just scored a goal (his new body language when about to make a decision – quite annoying, but not as tragic as leaving toilet seats up or dirty socks on the floor) and announced, “Cucumber watermelon mojito.”
“Yes, please,” Alice replied dreamily, already imagining how beautifully it would compliment the salad and quiche. River might have turned his back on the short cocktail career that had led him away from the music industry, but he definitely hadn’t lost his impeccable taste buds. These could be relied upon to animate every meal at their kitchen table, from baked beans on toast to a Sunday roast. Oh, and now he would need to devise a whole new cocktail list to accompany their Spanish wedding breakfast. “Let the party planning begin!”
TIM
“And that’s a wrap! Thanks everybody. Great bouncing session!” Tim Nutkins shouted down the hall through his microphone headset. His large, dark brown eyes peeped at his students through his floppy blonde side fringe. “As always, if you fancy staying behind to help pack away the equipment, I’d be much obliged. But if you have to cut and run, I quite understand. See you all next week.”
Tim was thrilled with the evening’s turnout for his trampoline class as things often tended to tail off in the run up to the festive period; thoughts turning to feasting, flavoured vodka, and work party frolics instead. But thirty fitness fanatics had shown up tonight, making use of all of his mini trampolines as they had rebounded – mostly in sync – to the greatest hits of Wham, Bananarama and Duran Duran. Admittedly, more than a dozen of them were late paying Tim this term, but if you couldn’t make concessions during the season of goodwill, when could you? He was sure they’d reimburse him as soon as they could.
At six foot two, Tim’s head (and airborne fringe) almost touched the ceiling when he put his class through their paces, but it didn’t get better than this and he’d never been one to take himself too seriously. How could you when you’d gone through school being called ‘Squirrel’ on account of sharing your surname – well, minus the last letter – and your chocolate brown eyes with a certain Beatrix Potter character? And then there was Tim’s rather outstanding ability at climbing trees…
At leasthewas happy with the way his career was progressing, as he mixed and matched his trampoline sessions with the new-fangled craze of bungee workouts. Piper would have other ideas. But that was why he adored her. They were a classic case of opposites attracting, and her enthusiasm for the stratospheric heights he could reach was infectious – if not a little overwhelming at times. Then again, Piper was eight years younger, and that kind of energy would help him keep a youthful approach to life as the years rolled by.
Piper had a late finish this evening. She was ‘filming’. Tim put that bit in inverted commas because his bride-to-be wasn’t an actor but an influencer. Whenever Piper was out of earshot and Tim was in a conversation, for some reason he would whisper the ‘I’ word. Not because he was embarrassed about his stunning fiancée’s choice of career, promoting brands by gracing them with her presence (Piper’s speciality tended to be luxury hotels and resorts, a little unfathomable given she’d started out endorsing cosmetics). It was just that it didn’t particularly pique the interest of the grafters in his family and circle of friends. His circle prior to meeting Piper. Obviously, he was now on the periphery of his girlfriend’s much wider and wealthier set too, when she let him tag along to events.
Tim saluted his thanks to the trio of exercise buddies who always stayed behind to help him, rolled up the mat at his feet and propped it against the wall, ready to be locked in the giant store cupboard along with the rest of the gym equipment. He ploughed a hand through his thick floppy hair and let himself drift back to that very first meeting with the woman who was soon to become his wife.
He’d been mesmerised the moment Piper had sashayed into his spin class in the gym of one of Manchester’s top hotels. He’d picked up a few months of work there straight out of his sports management degree, prepping those who could afford the fifty-pound sessions for the benefit of their summer bikinis and trunks. Piper had looked exquisite in her skimpy workout gear – and still did, of course – with her blow-waved, glossy mahogany locks falling over her shoulders and trailing down to the middle of her back. Those smouldering jade-green eyes hit you for six; not to mention her Bambi-esque lashes, and her killer physique with every curve in just the right place. Curves that Tim had very much wanted to explore after the fade-out of the last tune on his stereo (modern day pop might favour the cold ending, but Tim played classic eighties hits during his classes). It was an animal attraction. Primeval and wild. Tim’s previous romances had been slow burn tropes straight out of a movie, and they hadn’t lasted once things had got started, so he could only take this mutual captivation as a good sign.
Before he knew it, Piper was sitting snugly at his side in the cocktail bar on the top floor of the hotel where they had both knocked back Cloud Nines. Then they were ripping each other’s clothes off in Piper’s executive suite, experiencing Cloud Nine in a much more intimate way. It still aroused him now just thinking about it. The sex had been frenetic, and he wasn’t sure where either of them had found the energy after an hour of hardcore cycling to disco anthems on the exercise bikes.
Bedroom antics were still almost as fast-paced nowadays. There was just thesmallmatter of Piper bringing up wedding plans increasingly frequently amidst their love making. Always at the most inopportune moments, too… like when things were building to a crescendo and he’d found her G spot. Why couldn’t she just stay in the moment? He didn’t care about balloon arches and doves flying out of cages, caricaturists capturing the hammed-up quirks of their guests on canvas, or magicians with such impressive sleight of hand that they’d performed for royalty and footballers – much less Piper’s latest obsession: ‘a showstopper of a wedding cake to rival all wedding cakes’. It was something of an enigma when she rarely touched sugar. He just wanted to marry her. That was the main event, surely? The love aspect, coupledom, and whatever came next. He supposed he wanted kids but, truth be told, he wasn’t sure if Piper would have the time for them. Something would definitely have to give on the career front for one of them. Not that he was averse to being a stay-at-home husband.
Tim double-checked that everything was to his satisfaction in the now empty town hall. He was super grateful for the opportunity to run his classes here in down to earth (but hilly) Glossop. Yes, it was a trek from the luxury penthouse apartment he shared with Piper in the sought-after canalside area of Manchester, but it was refreshing. And it was a prime location to host a bootcamp. Next summer Tim planned to cash in on the fact that Glossop was the gateway to the Peak District and the Pennines by leading some group excursions there for outdoor activities. Climbing, foraging, wild camping and swimming all sprang to mind. Not that he charged anywhere near as much as Piper suggested he should for his sessions. ‘Exercise Available to ALL’ was Tim’s motto.
He slung his sports bag over his shoulder, locked up the hall, and paced over to the carpark in the bitterly cold night, teeth chattering as he fumbled for the keys to his ten-year-old Volkswagen Polo. Another thing that Piper would upgrade in a heartbeat for him, probably to something like her six-month-old, frisky royal blue Mini Cooper. She was such a honey. Tim Nutkins was the world’s jammiest man and there was no denying it. Piper and her big heart doted on him. That’s why he hadn’t hesitated to move in with his girlfriend after just six weeks, and that’s why he’d popped the question after a whirlwind nine months together. He couldn’t wait for them to live out their HEA in wedded bliss.
FREYA
Freya sighed and checked her reflection in the cloakroom mirror before grabbing her coat. She looked as good as it got, after a jam-packed day at work. Though being a little frazzled did make the freckles on her cheeks and the hazel of her eyes pop all the more. How had she been so naive as to let Jimena, Alejandro, Nicola and Ricky talk her into this, though? Why hadn’t Tiddles given her a sign that it was a very bad idea? Last time she’d got ready for a date, her cat had deposited a live cricket on the bathroom floor, making her emit a blood-curdling scream, followed by a bout of shivers that she’d been unable to shake off all night. And the time before that, Tiddles had got stuck up the large lemon tree in her garden and she’d been out there until the twilight hours trying to coax her back down, cancelling on the furious guy in question; a sure sign that said date most definitely would not have been the One. Only Hannah seemed to get Freya, and was always so sweetly protective of her boss, reminding her she didn’t have to go through with the crap she was about to embark on. Which was such a negative thought to leave the cakery with, that she might just as well go home to Tiddles, tea on tap and Netflix. None of the men she’d met in the Costa del Sol’s bars or eateries in recent years had whetted her appetite for more. Why would this evening’s attempt be any different?
“It’ll do you the world of good,” said Nicola as Freya stepped back into the cake decorating room, feeling jittery for what would probably be nothing. “The dates you have the least expectation about always end up being the best.”
“Yep,” agreed her double act, Jimena. “Third time lucky.”
“You look great, don’t chicken out and waste all that effort staying here with us,” Alejandro added, without taking his eye off the intricate process of ‘glueing’ his reindeer biscuits to the middle tier of a breathtaking Christmas wedding cake he was helping Ricky to assemble ready for its spot in the limelight. It was unusual for Alejandro, Jimena and Nicola to congregate in the cake decorating room – the baking room being their regular territory – but there was so much assemblage to tend to today; a number of the part-timers had come down with the seasonal lurgy, and Glaswegian Ricky was up to his eyeballs in fiddly piping.
“Awayyego! We are more than ready to cover for you if you end up getting so moolured you shag him and wake up with a head full of regret,” hooted Ricky, who could always be relied upon to lower the tone.
Thankfully, he was far more respectful towards his precious cake styling; the precision on his beloved icing mirrored the attention to detail he gave his hair, and the decadent chocolate almond pine cones Ricky was planting on the top tier of the festive cake could have been real-life specimens from the Andalucían forest.
“The only thing I’m looking forward to is the outdoor heaters and furry rug seats,” Freya replied candidly.
Every time she went on a date in Marbella it ended in either disaster or a dead end. If the guy she was out with wasn’t interrupted by a VIP phone call just as she was about to deliver her punchline in a story, he had a back catalogue of relationships that screamed ‘run for the Sierra Nevada mountains and never look back!’ This whole escapade felt as pointless as every other.
“I can barely contain my excitement,” Ricky quipped. “Maybe they’ll have old granny throws and a couple of corgi dogs that can sit on your lap as you sip your way through a pot of Earl Grey like the queen.”
Everybody laughed at this, Freya included, even if it did sound like a much better proposition. Although she had lived in Marbella ever since her parents had made the whole family up sticks from Brighton for a new life in the sun, Freya was notoriously grumpy in Spain’s winter months, drinking endless tea just to survive. How she had coped with southern England’s freezing temperatures from November to March until her early teens, she would never know.
“All right, I’ll try to make the best of it,” she pacified the gang, wondering for the hundredth time why she had fallen for the ‘charms’ of Tinder again. In Spain, like other countries, the App was renowned for being more ‘hook-up’, less bona fide date. “And no strolling past and rubbernecking through the window to keep tabs on my progress like last time.”
A chorus of snickers ensued. Hannah, in the corner of the room packaging a Christmas cake for the town hall’s annual party, shook her head in disbelief at her colleagues’ antics.
