Meet Me at the Cupcake Café

She let her thoughts flicker briefly to Ben. But people could change. She was sure of it. Of course they did. Boys grew up. Became men. Did what men were supposed to do. But still, in Issy’s case, she thought it was probably for the best.

Pearl set her jaw. And even without Ben – she glanced over at Issy tickling Louis on the tummy – sometimes you took your family where you could get it. Still. She heaved a sigh. That nice scruffy young man from the bank. Yes, he was a little zany, but there was a real man. There was a man who knew how to look after his family.

‘OK!’ said Issy, spotting the first 4×4 pulling up on Albion Road and a slightly nervous, beautifully groomed young mother emerge, with a spotless child in a button-down shirt and chinos clutching a large gift. Louis dashed out to meet them.

‘Jack! Ayo, Jack!’

‘Hahyo, Louis!’ hollered Jack. Louis looked at the gift expectantly.

‘Give the present to Louis,’ said the mother briskly. Jack looked at the present. Louis looked at the present.

‘Hand it over now, Jack,’ said the mother, slightly tight-jawed. ‘Remember this is Louis’s birthday.’

‘Mah bifday,’ said Jack, burying his head in the present.

‘It’s not your birthday, Jack,’ said the mother. ‘Hand it over please.’

‘Mah bifday.’

‘Iss mah birfday!’ chimed in Louis. Jack’s lip wobbled. Issy and Pearl dashed out.

‘Hello, hello,’ said Pearl. ‘Thank you so much for coming.’

‘Look what I’ve got for you,’ said Issy, leaning down next to Jack and Louis with two tiny pinnies. ‘Do you want to be a top chef and come and make cakes?’

‘Going to eat cakes?’ said Jack suspiciously.

‘Yes we are! We’re going to make our own cakes then eat them,’ said Issy.

Jack reluctantly allowed himself to be taken by the hand, as other children started to arrive behind him. But not just children: Mrs Hanowitz was there, dressed up in a smart purple hat; then three builders, who’d brought their own children; Mira and Elise, of course; Des, the estate agent, and Jamie; the young students who were meant to be working on their theses but had obviously got off with each other instead; two firemen and Zac, Helena and Ashok.

‘Louis invited you?’ said Issy, delighted to see them. Ashok and Helena were entwined in each other’s arms.

‘He certainly did,’ said Helena. ‘We bought him a doctor’s kit. It’s a real doctor’s kit with all the sharp bits taken out.’

‘I thought the NHS was underfunded,’ said Issy, turning on the coffee machine. They’d pushed all the tables together so there was a long workbench, and as soon as everyone was here and Oliver had stopped crying in the corner and his mother stopped telling him off for crying in a corner, they were going to start.

Graeme had woken up at 5am that morning, sat bolt upright, then lain staring at the ceiling, feeling his heart race. What was he thinking? What had he done? This was a disaster. An absolute disaster. How had he let Issy break up with him already? She could do whatever she liked once the deal was done.

He cancelled his squash game; the idea of having to trade quips with Rob about how sexy or moose-like the girls passing in the gym were seemed just too much to face. Maybe he’d go for a run instead, get it out of his system.

He returned to the flat, sweating – partly from his run, partly from sheer nerves. There was a message in his inbox. It was from the bank where they’d put in for a loan, asking him to go in for a meeting on Monday. Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck, they were going to say yes too. Of course they were. You spend half your life trying to get things done when nothing moves and everyone is bloody slow, then the one thing you don’t want to happen gets done in the blink of an eye. Graeme was moving towards the shower when he saw something that made his blood run cold. The bottom of the email … Where did he know that name from?

Austin Tyler.

He shook his head. Fuck. It was that lanky friend of Issy’s. The same guy. God, obviously it was meant to be confidential but … he’d been at her birthday party, he’d seen him. If they were mates … If Austin had read the application, he would almost certainly tell Issy about it. He did her banking, didn’t he? It would be weird if he didn’t ask her about it. And if she found out from someone other than him … Graeme’s blood ran cold. She wouldn’t like it. Not one little bit. And the consequences for him, for them, for his job, if Issy didn’t like it …

Graeme showered in double-quick time then threw on the first clothes he came to – very unlike him – and ran to the car.

‘OK!’ said Issy, once everyone finally had a coffee. There were people squeezed against the back walls. It was ridiculous in here. Even Louis’s nursery minders had come, and Issy couldn’t believe that after having the children all day for five days the staff would voluntarily come out on a Saturday, but here they were. It was nice when you thought about it. A really lovely nursery. The other mothers had spotted it too and were asking themselves why they hadn’t thought to invite the nursery staff. It smacked of favouritism, they sniffed.

Pearl sniffed back in their general direction. Of course it was favouritism. Who wouldn’t want her radiant Louis over Oliver, who had now wet his pants and the floor and whose mother was almost as close to hysteria as he was. She looked around. There was one person missing.

‘OK,’ said Issy, and everyone settled down. She even turned down the ear-splitting volume of Louis’s favourite party hits tape, which included ‘Cotton-Eye Joe’ nine times on a loop.

‘Now, first of all, has everyone washed their hands?’

‘Ye-es,’ chorused the little ones, although the amount of snot on show definitely made it appear as if the cakes would be more than moist enough.

‘Well, first we take the flour …’

Tosser, thought Graeme to himself, as a white van refused to let him cut in coming over the Westway. This was a totally bloody ridiculous journey right across London every day, nobody in their right mind would commute this. The traffic was horrific, and the sunny weather meant everyone was out on the streets, wandering across pedestrian crossings or hanging about on street corners, cluttering the place up. He was in a hurry, goddammit.

‘Austin!’

‘No.’