Meet Me at the Cupcake Café

‘I have full confidence in the business plan,’ he said swiftly.

‘The one you haven’t read,’ said Issy.

Austin would have smiled more if he had actually read it, but he had totally followed his gut as he always did when lending. It usually worked in his favour. If it was a good enough method for murder detectives, he liked to think, it was good enough for him.

‘You know, I know someone who does a marketing workshop,’ he said, and wrote the details down for Issy. She pored over them carefully and asked some questions; it felt like he was genuinely taking an interest. Well, protecting his investment, obviously, she realized.

‘Thanks,’ said Issy to Austin. It was odd to hear him talk so much sense when he was wearing his stripy jumper inside out. ‘Your jumper’s inside out.’

Austin glanced at it.

‘Oh, yes, I know. Darny decided that all clothes should have their labels sticking out, that’s how you know you’re wearing the right clothes. And I couldn’t seem to convince him logically otherwise, so I decided to just, you know, play along till he figures it out. He should probably have grown out of that now, huh?’

‘And how’s he going to figure it out if you’ve got it all wrong?’ asked Issy, smiling.

‘That is a very good point,’ said Austin, and in one gesture he pulled off the sweater. Inadvertently he pulled up some of his forest-green shirt with it, exposing a trim tummy. Issy caught herself staring at it, then realized Helena was staring at her, muted mirth in her eyes. Her old habit came back: she felt her cheeks flushing a deep, horrifying red.

‘I don’t know,’ said Austin, who hadn’t stopped talking. ‘I was just trying to get him to jungle gym on time. I assume the other kids will call him horrible names and make him cry till he eventually falls into line, stamps out his individuality and conforms like a sheep.’

He pulled his jumper back on properly and looked for Issy, but she’d disappeared downstairs.

‘Uh, I’ll get those rental agreement papers you need!’ she shouted up the stairwell. Helena gave him a knowing smile.

‘Stay for coffee,’ she said.

Issy threw cold water on her face from the catering sink downstairs. This was absolutely ridiculous. She had to pull herself together; she had to work with him. She wasn’t twelve.

‘Here.’ She reappeared, only mildly flushed. ‘A cupcake for Darny. I insist. It’s … what would your marketing people call it? A sample.’

‘Giving samples to people who get a pound a week pocket money probably wouldn’t pass a cost/benefit analysis,’ said Austin, ‘but thank you.’ He took the cake and found his fingers holding on to it just a second too long, as if reluctant to give up the traces of her touch.

‘And then,’ said Helena, pouring the last of the wine, ‘then you dragged him downstairs into your store cupboard and—’

Issy bit her lip. ‘Shut up!’ she said.

‘He pulled you into his manly, calculator-wielding arms and—’

‘Stop it!’ said Issy. ‘I will throw cushions.’

‘Throw all the cushions you like,’ said Helena. ‘I already like him nine thousand per cent more than Graeme.’

As usual, at the mention of Graeme’s name Issy went a little quiet.

‘Oh, come on, Iss, I’m only teasing. Don’t be so sensitive.’

‘I know, I know. Anyway, Austin came in to get those rental papers signed. And to give me a telling-off for slacking, you could see it on his face when he walked in the door.’

‘On a Saturday?’

‘He’s local. He lives round here. Knows the area inside out.’

‘That’s because he’s so clever and wonderful. Smooch smooch smooch.’

‘Shut up!’ Issy hurled her pillow direct at Helena’s head. ‘And I need an early night. I’ve got stuff to do tomorrow.’

‘Is it smooching?’

‘Goodnight, Helena. You need a hobby.’

‘You’re it!’

The Sunday train was absolutely packed with weekend travellers; lots of men coming back from the match yesterday, loudly spilling cans of beer and hollering at their friends across the aisles. Issy found a quiet corner seat with her book and half gazed at her tired-looking reflection in the window, thinking back over her visit to Grampa Joe.

‘Well, you didn’t half perk him up with that party,’ Keavie had said when she arrived. ‘He’s been tired since though. And maybe a little … distracted.’

‘It’s starting again, isn’t it?’ Issy had said, stricken. ‘It’s taking hold.’

Keavie looked pained, and touched Issy briefly on the arm.

‘You know … I mean, this is why he’s here, you know that,’ she said.

Issy nodded. ‘I know. I know. It’s just … he’s seemed so well.’

‘Yes, well, often just the security of being looked after can help people for a few months.’

Issy looked down. ‘But not for ever.’

Keavie looked sad too. ‘Issy …’

‘I know, I know. It’s incurable. It’s progressive.’

‘He has his moments,’ said Keavie. ‘He’s had a good few days actually, you might be lucky. And he always likes it when you visit.’

Issy rearranged her face by an effort of will, for the second time in as many days, and marched into the room.

‘Hello, Gramps!’ she said loudly. Joe half opened his eyes.

‘Catherine!’ he said. ‘Margaret! Carmen! Issy!’

‘Issy,’ said Issy gratefully, wondering briefly who Carmen was. She gave him a hug, felt the whiskery skin that seemed to droop off his bones even more every time she came. ‘How are you doing, Gramps? Been outside much? They feeding you all right?’

Joe waved his hands.

‘No, no, no,’ he said. ‘No. Not that.’

He leaned forward as far as he could towards Issy. The effort made his chest rattle.

‘Sometimes,’ he said, slowly. ‘Sometimes I don’t always get things right these days, my Issy.’

‘I know, Grampa,’ said Issy, clasping his hand. ‘Nobody does really.’

‘No,’ he said. ‘I know. But it’s not that …’