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‘You know I will always be here for you,’ he said, his voice slightly cracking. ‘Always.’
Nikki nodded. ‘I know,’ she said. ‘And me too. For you.’
She reached out her hand and he took hers, squeezing it so hard it almost hurt.
From inside, a big burst of music shook the walls, blaring out into the dark night.
‘The karaoke’s starting,’ she said.
‘Let’s go, then.’ Woody disentangled his fingers. ‘Come on. I’ll get you a Baby Guinness.’
He strode off. Nikki stood for a moment, shivering in the night air, wondering how five minutes could turn her upside down like that, confusing her, making her question everything she felt and thought. She had felt so close to Rik in that moment. She had felt something between them, she was sure. An incredible, all-consuming warmth. But now she felt frozen, inside and out.
She sighed. She’d better go inside or she would freeze. And there was karaoke to be done.
The pub was full to bursting. The walls seemed to drip with the heat of so many people, and it was standing room only as the karaoke began. The crowd were good-natured, giving a rousing cheer to even the most tone-deaf and out-of-tune performer, for they valued participation over performance. There was no need to be pitch perfect, you just had to have a go and muck in.
Nikki wasn’t sure a Baby Guinness was the best idea after all the cider she’d drunk. Sambuca topped with Baileys in a shot glass, it was the current Neptune craze. She downed it in one, and it buoyed her up to take the stage and belt out her rendition of ‘Edge of Seventeen’. She might not have the voice of Stevie Nicks, but she came from a family of performers and show-offs, and as the crowd sang along, she enjoyed the limelight.
At one point she looked out into the audience and saw Rik staring at her. She met his gaze, and for a few seconds it was as if there was only the two of them in the room.
And then the door opened and in walked Jess, in satin bell bottoms, a floral shirt and a furry gilet. Her dark hair was ironed poker straight, and she had moons of blue eyeshadow. Her eyes raked the room until they fell on Rik. With a triumphant smile she bore down on him, and the next moment he was sporting a fake moustache with his hair flattened under a baker boy hat.
Sonny to her Cher.
As Nikki finished her song to riotous applause, Jess pulled a reluctant Rik through the crowds and dragged him up on stage. He was protesting, but he was laughing nevertheless, and the audience began to clap, egging them on. Rik played to the crowd, shrugging as if to say ‘what can I do?’, and took one of the mikes as the opening bars of ‘I Got You Babe’ blasted out over the loud speaker.
As duets went, what it lacked in polish it made up for with enthusiasm. Jess was hamming it up, singing to Rik as if he was the love of her life. He played it cool, but his eyes were laughing, and he had the moves and no one was left in any doubt that he could sing. For an impromptu performance, it was impressive.
Someone pressed another Baby Guinness into Nikki’s hand by way of appreciation for her performance, but she pushed it away. She could feel bile rise up inside her and she needed some air, but it was impossible to push her way through the throng. She was pinned to the spot and forced to watch.
As Jess and Rik reached the last bars, the applause was rapturous. They took a bow. And then Jess threw her arms around Rik and kissed him. A proper kiss, not just a peck on the cheek. A kiss that left nothing to the imagination or anyone in two minds about their relationship.
They owned the stage. They owned the room.
They owned the world.
20
Now
On Saturday, Helen crept through the streets of Speedwell just after dawn. She could already tell the day was set fair. She could judge the weather better than a barometer, feeling in her bones and smelling in the air whether there would be sunshine or rain for the rest of the day. Today, there was a little cloud cover, but the sun was elbowing its way through and would push those clouds to one side by eight o’clock, then show the full force of her rays by mid-morning. Perfect weather for a wedding.
She let herself into her unit, feeling the usual leap of pleasure at entering her domain. She’d had it fitted out to her own specification. It was pristine and gleaming, with a state-of-the-art oven and stainless-steel work surfaces. The walls were racked with shelves containing all the tools of her trade: mixing bowls, food processors, every size and shape of cake tin imaginable, wooden spoons and spatulas, icing bags and nozzles. A large cupboard held flours and sugars and baking powder; food colouring and cocoa powder and vanilla essence. In the fridge was best organic butter and cream; next to it were boxes of free-range eggs from a nearby farm and baskets full of lemons. It was the opposite of the kitchen at Mariners, which was dilapidated and scruffy and disorganised and definitely wouldn’t get a food hygiene certificate. In here, you’d be hard-pushed to find so much as a crumb out of place or a thumbprint on a surface.
Here, Helen created her masterpieces. If she was feeling flat or tense, she would come in and experiment with new flavours and techniques to add to her repertoire. She often spent the evening scrolling through Pinterest and something would catch her eye. Something that seemed impossible to recreate at first glimpse, but Helen would try and try again until she had got it just right. Her friends were used to being given the results of her trial runs, and would give her feedback in return for being guinea pigs.
Today’s wedding was for a garden designer and her client. Gillian and Carenza had fallen in love over the sweet peas, and were having a simple ceremony followed by tea on Carenza’s lawn. The cake they’d chosen was a single-tier sponge flecked with the zest and juice of the best Spanish oranges, then filled with passion fruit curd and meringue buttercream and coated with a white Belgian chocolate ganache. It had hardened off in the fridge overnight, and now she had to put on the finishing touches. She’d brought a basket of flowers from her cutting garden at Mariners in a gorgeous array of yellow and blue and purple: nasturtiums and borage and cornflowers; violas and pansies.
She gently laid out the flower heads, throwing away any that were torn or bruised, then spent half an hour carefully applying them to the tops and sides of the cake with edible glue. By the time she had finished it looked breathtakingly beautiful.
‘Oh, Mum,’ sighed Nikki, who’d arrived to collect it.
‘I think this is the best one I’ve ever done.’ Helen stood back and took a photograph with her iPad.
‘They’ll love it. I mean, what more could they wish for?’
Despite her enthusiasm, Helen couldn’t help noticing that Nikki was more tense than usual, stressing while they placed the cake inside one of the special boxes Helen had designed to avoid disastrous mishaps.
