Page 19 of The Promise of Tomorrow
ELENA
Whistling, Elena opened the oven and took out the oblong cake tin, heat whooshing into her face. She squinted and placed it on the cooling rack, then prodded the sponge. Cardamom tea cake, Tahoor’s favourite. She’d never baked it before and its spicy aroma Bollywood-danced through the ground floor of her house. Rory had set up the lounge with drinks and bowls of crisps. The pre-match commentary on the television had begun. The game would kick off – literally – at half past seven.
Despite still being slightly hungover after spending last night in the pub, Elena took a large mouthful of wine. She yawned after another busy day at work, out of adrenaline now. Derek was pitching the broken biscuits idea, informally, to the board tomorrow. Every member of the marketing team was fully behind her concept. Spontaneously, last night, the department had gone to the Three Horseshoes, nearby, and the team spent the first hour debating whether the pub had put its Christmas tree up too early. It was also already advertising a festive quiz night. As a marketing team, they should have approved of the pub getting customers in a nostalgic mood so promptly, this hopefullytranslating into bigger booze sales. Yet decking the place out with Christmas decorations, before December, risked a consumer festive fatigue.
A couple of drinks later, the team had chatted about Elena’s new product idea – and so very much more, each sip of alcohol heightening honesty. Each and every one of them felt broken in some way. Julie worried day and night about her mum, who had long Covid; Pete’s mortgage had gone up to a rate he couldn’t afford and he had no idea how he was going to budget for the festive season. He’d suffered panic attacks. Heartbroken Sanjay had been sending email after email to his son’s school, trying to get to the bottom of some vicious online bullying; Gary’s dad still refused to meet Diego and made pointed comments about his son one day ‘manning up’ and settling down with a nice girl. As for Caz, her husband’s family was stuck in Ukraine, and Tony’s hospital doctor wife was chronically overworked and underpaid. All of them reckoned friends carried them through difficult times. They loved the idea of a share bag of broken biscuits that were still deemed sturdy enough to sell despite a challenging transportation or production process. It felt relatable, they said, and inspiring. Derek had turned up late to the pub, for a swift one, before hurrying home to his wife. A flyaway comment, a look between him and Elena, gave her the impression that maybe his marriage was in trouble.
‘There comes a point when you’re chipped and cracked, when you’ve lost parts of yourself that leave deep-seated scars, when resilience kicks in, along with a desire to fight those battles and stand taller,’ Elena had said in a full voice, and everyone had clinked glasses. A couple of her colleagues had tears in their eyes. This campaign was about more than raising profits.
Elena removed the cake from the tin. Unlike everyone else, Rory hadn’t talked about problems, nor had she. Perhaps hiswounds, from the past, from the present, were as big as hers – or more likely, her cheerful, carefree housemate simply had none. She wiped her hands as the doorbell rang.
‘Tahoor! Come on in.’ She opened the door and the dark night released its embrace as he shuffled into the light and she held him in her arms instead. Elena took his anorak. Underneath he wore a Man City shirt and matching blue cardigan.
‘Thank you, lass. I’ve been looking forward to this all week. An easy win for us, it’ll be. Luton Town shouldn’t even be in the Premier League, playing with the big boys.’
‘Hasn’t Man City been seen as a small club, against United?’ she said sweetly.
She almost laughed at the indignation that crossed his face, and Tahoor was about to reply when he stood still and tilted his head. He sniffed and a look of recognition spread across his face, followed by a wave of something sadder. ‘I haven’t smelt cardamom cake for so long,’ he said in a scratchy voice. ‘When Isha stopped baking, that’s when I knew she was seriously ill.’
Elena squeezed his arm. ‘It’s for dessert, after fried eggs, beans and chips.’
His eyes widened. ‘Can we eat it in front of the telly, on our laps?’
Oh, Tahoor. She wanted to hug him again. ‘I don’t see why not. You go through and I’ll bring the food in when it’s ready.’
Tahoor beamed. ‘You’re going to make someone a wonderful wife.’ His voice lowered. ‘A bit of advice though. Isha never let herself go and would refresh her make-up in the evenings and change into a new sari.’ He looked Elena up and down, eyeing the baggy joggers and oversized jumper. ‘With a bit of effort, you’d bag that young man, Rory. Borrow that gold top of his. Trust me.’ He winked and strode into the lounge, leaving Elena staring after him, mouth agape. He sat down next to Rory andglanced back at Elena. She turned away and went into the kitchen.
When she returned, carrying the cutlery, napkins, and magazines to lean on, Rory was talking to Tahoor, slipping in the facts Don had passed on. For the first time, it struck her how deep the shadows were under Tahoor’s eyes, and there was a stain on his jumper.
‘Every game I pray it’s going to be like that 2011 blinder, when City beat United 6–1. What a derby. I was walking on air for days afterwards, especially in the office,’ said Tahoor, in a lively tone. ‘My boss supported the Reds and for once couldn’t call my team Manchester Shitty. I went out on a high, it was shortly before I retired.’
‘But nothing will ever beat the all-time classic against Liverpool Stanley,’ said Rory.
Tahoor’s face lit up. ‘You mean back in 1890, when the City team was called the Ardwick Association Football Club?’
‘Yep. 12–0, the score. Did you know they founded the club to attract men who might otherwise have joined criminal gangs and…’ Unsurprisingly, Rory had done extra research as he spoke about violence on the streets in the 1800s.
Why had Elena always assumed Rory shared facts with people to boast of his knowledge? Since he’d moved in, it had become clearer that he was simply passionate about diving into the detail. Tahoor sat rapt.
‘It was also the first team, in the northwest, to have a proper women’s squad,’ added Rory.
Tahoor tutted in a disapproving manner. ‘Lasses aren’t as… robust. There’s no getting around that, when it comes to height and muscle. The sport can be dangerous. Most unsuitable. The FA should never have lifted their ban on women’s teams in the seventies.’
Rory shot Elena an apologetic glance. ‘I’m not sure about that,’ he said.
‘I’m very not sure about it, either,’ said Elena. ‘It’s a sport about skill, and there are safety regulations.Bothsexes need to be careful about injury. And what about the Lionesses’ championship victory in 2022?’
‘Pah, it’s all very well for a man to get into scrapes and have a broken nose or a cauliflower ear. Such injuries are a badge of honour, even,’ said Tahoor. ‘Whereas a woman’s looks are important if she wants to do well in the world. Leave the dangerous sports to the men, I say.’
‘Then you won’t approve of me doing a bungee jump at the weekend,’ said Elena, excited for jumping off that bridge and sticking two fingers up to the past. She should have done that a long time ago.
Tahoor looked horrified. ‘Certainly not, and I’m sure Rory agrees with me.’
‘He’s the one who suggested trying his hobby,’ she said.
‘No reason why Elena shouldn’t do exactly the same as me.’
‘But it’s not… right,’ Tahoor spluttered.
